Awakenings
by 7PhoenixAshes
Summary: After reviving from a long coma, Hinamori Momo finds she must reevaluate her relationship with a certain Captain Hitsugaya Toshiro. [HitsuHina]
1. Welcome Back

**Disclaimer: I do not own bleach. Honestly. You can look everywhere in my dorm room, and I guarantee that there is none to be ****found.**** I don't own Kubo ****Tite's**** Bleach, either.**

**Spoiler Warnings: Roughly to the beginning of the ****Hueco ****Mundo**** arc (mostly post Soul Society).**

**Hope you enjoy!**

---

The last thing she saw before the darkness took her were the eyes of her former captain. Dim and empty, they displayed none of the warmth they'd held during the years in which she had padded softly behind him through the halls of Seireitei.

_In truth, __child, __I cannot bear to kill you again._

His hand, still warm and heavy, rested gently on her head, his fingers softly stroking her hair.

So _i__nstead,__ I give you__ sleep._

A flare of reiatsu. Some kind of kidou binding technique, her instincts told her.

_And __so __let __the withering hands of time, not mine,__ bring you to__ your __last breath_

Her world swam before her eyes, darkening and distorting. Weighed down by now leaden limbs, she sank to the cold stone floor, struggling against a rising fog in her brain.

She heard him kneel beside her and felt a warm, mocking hand brush a strand of hair from her forehead. His face came into view above her, wearing a kind, gentile smile that did not match the deadness of his eyes.

_Goodbye, Hinamori-__ku__n._

---

_There was nothing. No light. No sound, not even her own voice or heartbeat. She could not move in the vast emptiness, or perhaps there was nothing __that could__ move. __Stillness.__ No heat, no cold. __No time. __No time. No seconds, no hours, no years._

_Nothing_

_Nothing._

_Only n__othing._

_And then, after an eternity of silence__…_

_A sound._

_A low, continuous bab__ble, rising and falling._

_A voice?_

_She clung to the sound. She reached for it, stretched for it, a dim memory welling up inside her of places that were not void and not emptiness, places where there sounds and light instead of silen__ce and__ darkness._

_But the sound__ came no closer, grew no louder. It stayed ephemeral, intangible as the void itself. There was nothing but the void, the sound, and despair._

_And then._

_And then._

_A sudden__ warmth. __Fleeting.__A __single, __clear moment in the endless, timeless void._

_And the sound, the voice, resolved for that __brief__ moment into words._

Please…please…wake up, Hinamori…come—come back to me…I—I…

_…_

_Wake up? Come back? __A name? __Hinamori?_

_She had a name. She was sleeping. Someone was calling._

_She seized the name. __The identity.__ The warmth.__ The voice._

_She grasped them, and pulled, straining against the invisible, intangible bonds that chained her to the void._

_She pulled, and she felt them shatter._

_Free._

---

The first thing that returned to her was self-awareness. Once again, she could feel the weight of her own body, the presence of her limbs. She knew that she lay upon her back, her arms limp at her sides.

Then, touch. She rested upon a soft, slightly squashy surface. "_Bed,"_ supplied her sluggish brain. A soft, warm, light thing covering her. "_Blanket_." A cool feeling on her face. "_Breeze_"

Now, hearing. The rhythmic thumping of her heart. The rasp of her own breathing. A high-pitched twittering far off to one side. Birdsong.

What was left? Ah, sight. But all remained darkness.

There was a brief moment of panic. Had she gone blind? No. Wait. She had to open her eyes.

Slowly, grudgingly, her eyelids creaked open. The light stabbed like a thousand white-hot needles. She closed them, then opened them again.

Gradually, the piercing glare faded and the colored blurs surrounding her resolved into the walls and ceiling of a room, a vase of white flowers, and the serenely smiling face of Captain Unohana.

"Welcome back, Hinamori-san."

---

Captain Unohana carefully studied the face of her patient. The young woman on the bed's cheeks were sunken, her skin ashen. However, her wide, dark eyes were open and lucid, if a little over-bright.

"Do you know who I am, Hinamori-san?"

Hinamori opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was a choking, gasping croak. Unohana leant forward and gently tipped a cup of water against the girl's lips. Hinamori initially gagged, but after a few moments was able to slowly, painfully, swallow.

She tried to speak again, and this time succeeded in answering, albeit in a horse, rasping voice. "C-ca-ptain Unoha-na."

"And do you know where you are, Hinamori-san?"

"The F-fourth Division medical center."

At this response, Unohana let out a silent sigh of relief. She hadn't been certain, when it had been reported that the former vice-captain at last was stirring, that Hinamori's mind would return from her coma whole and unharmed.

"C-captain, what…what happened? Why…where was I…" Hinamori broke off, her narrow chest heaving with the exertion of just forcing those few words out.

Unohana's eyes narrowed, her look sharpening slightly.

"Do you remember the Arrancar attack on Soul Society?" When Hinamori slowly nodded, the Fourth Division captain continued on.

"As best as we can determine, during the course of the battle, you were captured and dragged down to Hueco Mundo." Her voice took on an unusually steely edge. "Apparently Aizen believed you to be the mentally weakest of all the high-ranking Shinigami. He and his subordinates attempted to torture you into revealing our battle preparations and strategies for the coming war."

Unohana's lips twitched upwards. "You showed him, though, what a true Shinigami is made of, Hinamori-san. From what we found out, you held your tongue through every kind of physical pain they could put you through, through every truth drug they dosed you with, and that you even refused to break under Kyouka Suigetsu's illusions. I think, in the end, even Aizen was impressed."

Hinamori's eyes, which had taken on an empty, haunted look, fluttered closed, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Unohana reached out, laying a comforting hand on the girl's ashen forehead, but Hinamori flinched so violently that Unohana immediately withdrew. She chose not to comment.

The bleak tone back in her voice, Unohana went on. "Aizen chose, though, to reward you in the most unusual of ways. Instead of just killing you, martyring you, in a sense, he just bound you in a deep coma with a combination of kidou techniques that not even the experts in the Corps had ever seen before. Had he not been defeated, you probably never could have broken free. You would just have lingered on in a state of unconsciousness for centuries, millennia even, until old age claimed you at last."

Those words hung in the warm stillness of the hospital room for a few moments, the songs of the birds outside the window garishly loud. Then, Hinamori's soft, dry-throated whisper quavered through the air. "He's…dead then? Aizen's…dead?"

The captain of the Fourth studied her patient carefully, evaluating the effect her answer might have. "Yes, Hinamori-san. He is dead. The war was our victory."

Hinamori's face showed no signs of distress or grief, and once again, Unohana felt relieved. There had been some worry amongst the captains that Hinamori might still be under the influence of her former captain's brainwashing, but it seemed that all their fretting was for naught.

"Ah, that's…good. But what about…did anyone…I mean, is Tosh—everyone alright? Abarai-kun and Kira-kun and Matsumoto-san and, and…"

Unohana smiled warmly. "They're all fine. It would seem that our former captain grossly overestimated those nasty hybrid Hollows of his and vastly underestimated the strength of a united Soul Society. There were some losses, but all our captains and vice-captains made it through unharmed." She paused for a moment, then added blandly, "All of them…even Captain Hitsugaya."

The sudden bloom of color on Hinamori's winter-pale cheeks told her all she needed to know.

Unohana rose to her feet, straightening her haori. "If you please, Hinamori-san, I must leave you now to attend to some of my other patients. In a few moments, I will send one of our healers in with a sleeping draught."

The horrified, bulgy-eyed expression on the bedridden girl's face would have been almost comical on the face of a healthy person.

Unohana bent to squeeze Hinamori's hand reassuringly. "There, there. You'll need your rest if you want to be up and walking any time soon. Do not worry; you shall only be asleep for a few hours this time, not years, I promise you that."

She released the quivering hand and made her way to the open door. Then, a soft, tired voice stopped her.

"Years…you said _years_, Captain…How—how long was I asleep for…Captain Unohana, wait…please..."

One hand on the doorframe, Unohana turned back toward her patient for a moment, her blankest smile splashed across her face.

"Nearly nine years, Hinamori-san."

And with that, she was gone.

---

**Exposition, exposition, exposition.**** Sorry 'bout that. The next chapter will have some better****, faster****, more entertaining (I hope)**** dialog****ue**** …**

**I also apologize for the absence of a certain white-haired captain**** in this chapter****. In the original idea for this ****fic ****Shiro-chan**** made a very early appearance. However, I wanted to give him the entrance he deserves,**** so his arrival's been delayed**

**By the way, reviews make me**** happy. If I am happy, I tend to write faster. Therefore, if you wish this ****fic**** to be updated in a reasonable amount of time, it is in your best interest to tell me what you think ****(constructive criticism is good, but no flames, please)!**


	2. Healing

**Well, I meant to get a short chapter written uploaded just after I posted the first one. However, life got in the way. ****A half**** dozen papers and all my semester exams later, I'm finally uploading this five-thousand word (ZOMG) chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

**Warning: Though I attempted to keep it within the limits of the rating (believe me, I toned it ****waaay**** down from its original version), the first part of this chapter does contain a scene of torture. The super-duper squeamish ****have**** been warned.**

---------------

A trickle of crimson slowly slid down the dark blade of the Arrancar's zanpakuto, softly dripping onto the floor, where more blood—her own blood—flowed in thin rivulets, pooling in the spaces between the stones. She lay, shivering, on that cold, blood-slicked surface, unable to even move as the guttural voices of broken-masked Hollows argued above her.

The voices cut off, and she found herself torn to her feet by her hair, her chin tilted upward by a clawed hand to stare into the face of one of the Arrancar. As she gazed into his glittering yellow eyes, the tiny portion of her brain that had not yet shut down from pain or exhaustion dully noted that the half of his face not covered by a crocodile-skull mask was, in fact, quite beautiful. Beautiful, that is, if one ignored the cruel twist of his lips, the unnatural wideness of his eyes, the splatters of blood that painted his pale skin. As she watched, his long, purple tongue slithered out from between his warped lips, flicked across his cheek, and then slid back, smeared with red.

A feral grin made of too-large teeth stretched across his monstrous face. The second Arrancar behind her chuckled and tightened his grip on her hair.

There was a rough hiss of air on metal. A zanpakuto had been raised into attack position, but she did not know if it was the unknown Arrancar behind her or the crocodilian one who intended to strike. Cold metal scraped the back of her neck— a trickle of crimson warmth flowed down along her spine. She bit her lip to keep from gasping in pain, forcing instead her own dull brown eyes to stare, unblinkingly, straight back into the Hollow's molten gold ones. She could not remember why she could not allow herself to scream or whimper or even shut her eyes; that knowledge had disappeared along with her identity, her memory, and nearly every part of her consciousness not needed for her to simply _endure_.

All she could do now was to stare defiantly, to last the pain, and to wait for the death promised in those merciless yellow eyes. All forms of hope had vanished long ago.

She felt the deadly coldness of the zanpakuto's blade move to press against her cheek. The crocodilian Arrancar's wild grin stretched even wider, splitting the visible half of his face nearly to his ear, and she could almost feel his muscles tense in preparation for another slash.

And then something _shifted_.

A low, continuous murmur, like a muffled voice, suddenly filled the room. The Arrancar did not hear it; his eyes and cruel smile stayed fixed in their maniacal expression. But she could, and she found her eyes leaving his blood-splattered face to peer over his shoulder at the door that blocked the only entrance to the room, a door that was now rattling on its hinges as though pummeled by heavy, inaudible blows.

Then, with a thundering crash, the white stone barrier blew apart, fragments flying clear across the room to shatter thousand-fold on the opposite wall. The crocodilian Arrancar whipped around, zanpakuto drawn and at the ready, moving to stand between her and the intruder.

But somehow, she could see _through_ him. See, framed by a brilliant halo of the purest light, the most unusual of rescuers she could have possibly imagined.

Astride a gigantic white war-horse and armored in burnished silver, a medieval European knight galloped into the room, his lance leveled for battle.

The crocodilian Arrancar roared a challenge, leaping forward only to find himself spitted on the end of the knight's lance. The second Arrancar released his hold on her hair, clawed fingers scrabbling at the hilt of the zanpakuto at his waist. But the knight was faster. Before the broken-masked Hollow could even draw his blade, the knight's sword had swung in a glittering arc, and the Arrancar's headless body slumped heavily to the stone floor.

The knight pulled his horse to a stop directly in front of her, staring down through the slits of his lowered visor. His sword, she now saw, was not a typical Western straight-bladed sword; rather, it was a long Japanese katana, resembling more than anything else a sealed zanpakuto.

A gauntleted hand was suddenly extended before her, it's open, upturned palm an invitation. She raised her own quivering, blood-slicked hand and softly placed it in his, lacing their fingers together. Then, as though she weighed no more than a feather, the knight effortlessly lifted her, swinging her up onto his horse behind him. And then they were off.

Out through a window that now opened in what before had been blank stone.

Out past the now-crumbling walls of Las Noches.

Out across the glittering crystal sands that refracted the golden light of the sunrise that had pierced the eternal night of Hueco Mundo.

Clutching the knight's back, her hair flying behind her like the snapping green pennants tied to his lance, she found herself laughing, crying, laughing again.

She was free.

---

The white horse slowed to a canter, then to a trot, to a walk, and then, at last, a full stop, and the knight dismounted, his armor clanking noisily. Taking her by her waist, he lifted her from the back of the horse just as easily as he had put her on. She smiled up at him, a vague part of her mind noting that, during the course of the gallop, her wounds had closed and her exhaustion had melted away.

The knight stiffly bowed before her. She had no idea what courtesy called for in such a situation, so she bowed back. The knight seemed to think this funny—at any rate, the odd, muffled-voice sound grew louder as he swept into another, deeper bow. Then, upon straightening, he at last pushed up his visor.

Her brown eyes widened in horror, her mouth opened to release a choked gasp. She turned, taking her first step on what was sure to be a terrified flight across the desert, but a gauntleted fist clamped shut on her left arm. A quick pull sent her spinning back around to stare into his face—or rather, the place where his face would be if he had one.

His armor opened up into empty darkness. Black void.

She could feel it pulling, sucking her in. She struggled, frantically flailing about, but the grip on her arm was inexorable; the vacuum continued to draw her in. In desperation, she lashed out with her free arm—

Only to feel it connect with something very, very solid.

_Blink_

Hinamori suddenly found sitting bolt upright in her bed at the Fourth Division's medical center, her left arm limp at her side, her right extended, hand clenched in a fist. And on the floor beside her, a rather woozy-looking healer massaging his jaw.

---

"Oh, dear! I'm so sorry! I—I didn't mean to, really, I was just dreaming and—"

The healer, a young man with a mop of brown hair, just waved Hinamori's frantic apology off.

"Don't worry 'bout it, honey," he said, flashing her a wide grin. "Believe me, I've gotten much worse from some of those Eleventh Division louts. Though, I have ta say, I think you could give them a run for their money in a punching contest."

"Still, I shouldn't have…I mean, I'm sorry…"

"Tch, like I said, don' worry about it. See, look, a little healing kidou and…Poof! No more swelling, no more bruise, no more fractured jaw—Hey! Don't look so freaked! I was just kidding about the fracture part!"

The healer finally pulled himself off the floor and plopped himself back on the stool beside the bed where had been sitting. "I'm Ogido, by the way," he said, his cheerful, white-toothed grin stretching even wider. "Eighth-seat Ogido Harunobu."

"Nice to meet you, Ogido-san," Hinamori said, bowing as best she could from her position on the bed.

There was a pause, as though Ogido was waiting for her to say more.

"Erm…have we met before?"

His grin took on a slightly deflated look.

"Er… I'm sorry?"

Ogido again flapped a dismissive hand. "No, it's nothing like that, Hinamori-san. I just thought that maybe my reputation had preceded…ah, never mind, never mind."

He assumed a more professional tone. "So, it would seem then, that you are feeling better? You can move much easier, yes?"

Hinamori took stock of herself. Unlike after her previous awakening, it no longer was exhausting just to talk. Obviously, she could now sit up and move her head and right arm, but her left arm and both legs still felt unnaturally heavy and limp. She tried wiggling the fingers of her listless hand. Her index finger and thumb both gave a halfhearted twitch, but the rest didn't even budge. Alarmed, she reached over with her good arm to try to prod the other to life, but she found her wrist suddenly clasped by Ogido's tanned hand.

"Hey, there, don't go messing up my work now! If you tear something you shouldn't, I'll have ta start all over!"

Hinamori blinked her large brown eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Well, ta put it in simple terms, Hinamori-san, all your muscles have atrophied pretty bad. That's what you get if you don't do anything but snore—"

"I don't snore!"

"—don't do nothing but snore and flop around for a few years. Your muscles just wither away, and when you wake up, you can't move too well. I've been rebuilding them with kidou, see? Like this."

He moved his hand to gently rest two long fingers above the last joint of Hinamori's left thumb. The green glow of a healing kidou spell washed across her skin, accompanied by an intense pins-and-needles feeling throughout her whole hand.

"There. Try bending it."

She attempted to move the previously immobile digit. She'd been patched up by the miraculous abilities of the Fourth Division before, so it came as no surprise that the tip of her thumb now bent smoothly.

She smiled and thanked him.

"Aw, shucks, hun, I'm just doing my job! 'Course, it is nice to fix up a pretty little thing like yourself for a change instead one of those Eleventh Division barbarians! Even if it does mean getting my face broken in by said pretty thing." He cocked his head to the side. "If I may ask, just what were you dreaming about ta make you punch like that? You were making some weird sounds just before you woke up."

Hinamori racked her memory. A horse? A white horse and a green flag. And…a…a sword? The details of her dream were fading even as she reached for them.

"Ah, sorry, Ogido-san. I don't remember…"

"Tch, no worries. It was nice though, however painful, ta see that I did a proper job on that right arm of yours. And now if you'd let me have a go at your left where I was working—thank ya kindly—I'll see If I can do one of equal quality."

The green glow of kidou again lit the room, and that horrible prickling feeling spread from fingertips to shoulder blade. It wasn't terribly painful, Hinamori decided, just rather uncomfortable. Scratch that, really, _really_ uncomfortable.

"Say, Ogido-san…"

He answered without looking up. "Yeah?"

"You were the one who cured my right arm, right?"

"Yep."

"Did you fix up the rest of me too? Like my neck and back and stuff?"

"Naw, that was Seventh-seat Yamada. I'm second shift."

"Still, the healing goes pretty fast, right? I mean, the two of you got almost half of me done in just a few hours while I was asleep, right?"

"Actually hun, you were out for a couple of days."

Hinamori gaped at him.

Ogido gave her arm a reassuring pat. "Don' worry, it's not what you're thinkin'— ya didn't relapse into your coma or nothing. It seems some idiot healer accidentally gave you the dosage of sedatives normally used for rowdy Elevenths. And a normal dose for one 'o those jackasses is enough to knock out a battalion of Menos Grande." He chuckled. "And don' worry, it's definitely not going to happen again. Captain Unohana was about as pissed as I've ever seen her, which is a sight to see, I tell ya that."

Mollified, Hinamori returned to her original question. "So, then, this, er… muscle-rebuilding process takes a long while?"

"You betcha!"

"How long is long? I mean, I'm very grateful for your efforts, but it does feel a little odd…"

"Well, I should be finished with your arm in, oh, six hours or so."

"Oh."

---

Her left arm still only half rebuilt, Hinamori found herself in a state of utter boredom. Sometime earlier, she had attempted to find a distraction from the discomfort of the healing process by asking Ogido about himself. Unfortunately, the young man had cheerfully launched into a monologue about his innumerable friends and relatives, a monologue which, after nearly an hour of uninterrupted speech, showed no signs of stopping. Hinamori, who had tuned him out after the first fifteen minutes, had been reduced to counting ceiling tiles.

_One-thousand six-hundred forty-two, one-thousand six-hundred forty-three, one-thousand six-hundred forty-four…_

"So then, Satoshi told me 'bout that time when him and Shinji were visiting the forty-third district of Rukongai…"

_One-thousand six-hundred forty-five, one-thousand six-hundred forty-six …_

"And then, Kyoko-chan, who if you'd remember was the chick tha' got drunk during Takahashi-san's party…"

_One-thousand six-hundred forty-seven…_

"…told me that there was no way she could go to the festival 'cause…"

The tingling in Hinamori's arm briefly spiked as Ogido shifted his grip.

_One-thousand six-hundred forty—six?__Eight?__ Darn it all._

She slumped down on the pillows, choking down the urge to sigh in frustration. How much longer was this going to take? She wanted out, she wanted to just get up out of this bed and just run out of this claustrophobic little room where she had spent the past nine years of her life. She wanted OUT. Of course, if she did try to stand, her legs would undoubtedly collapse beneath her. And knowing her luck, she'd probably conk her head on the floor and concuss herself into another coma…

She irritably shifted about under the covers, which resulted in a warning poke from Ogido. She turned her head to glare (grumpily stare) at him, but sudden flicker of green at the edge of her vision caught her eye. She whipped around to look.

It was a book.

A hard-cover book to be exact, half-protruding from a large box in the corner. Hinamori blinked at it, surprised that she hadn't noticed it after all this time. It was just sitting in plain sight next to that tall stool, for heaven's sake.

Suddenly, solution to her boredom that did involve getting her ear talked off popped into her head.

"Hey, excuse me, Ogido-san.." she slyly said.

"…and then they made me their chief---Ah, yes, Hinamori-san?" the healer answered, looking up, his usual floppy grin plastered across his face. "What can I do for you?"

"Those books, the ones in that box…If it's not too much trouble, do you think you could hand me one of them? I mean, I don't mind listening to you and all, but I'm kind of tired, and I think a good book will help me sleep—or stay awake, whichever you'd prefer…"

Ogido's smile faded from his face.

"Is there something wrong?" Hinamori anxiously asked. The expression he now wore alarmingly resembled _fear_.

"Ah, no, not really," he said, his dark eyes flicking nervously between her and the box. "Well, actually, yeah, _he_ said he'd rip anybody who moved his books limb from limb."

Hinamori stared at the healer in shocked surprise.

Ogido shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Actually," he mused, half to himself, "_he_ only really implied he'd do that…" He squinted at Hinamori. "And I doubt he'd hurt _her_, since she's…"

The cheery grin suddenly reappeared to again split his face in two. "Just a minute, Hinamori-san," he chirped. He stood, stretched, then ambled over to the box. After a moment of rifling through the contents, he straightened back up with more than a half-dozen volumes balanced in his arms. Then, with a resounding crash, he dropped those books into a haphazard stack on his patient's bedside table.

Though she had let out an indignant squawk at his rough treatment of precious literature, Hinamori was quite sincere when she thanked him. Ogido, however, just waved her gratitude off with yet another vague hand gesture and a cheery "Your wish is my command, Hinamori-san" before resuming his work on her arm, though thankfully in silence this time.

Hinamori tilted her head to examine the books' titles. _A Field Guide to Birds of the East Indies._Sun Tzu's_ The Art of War. A Short History of Taxation Reform in Soul Society, 1132-1856_. _One-thousand and One Ways to Serve Rice_. The rest of the titles were equally as incongruous and mismatched.

She found herself intrigued and a little disturbed. What kind of person would collect a bunch of random books, threaten dismemberment to anyone who touched them, then store them in a hospital room? And why her room, of all places? Just what kind of people was Captain Unohana allowing to roam around?

"Erm, sorry to bother you again, Ogido-san, but…" Hinamori said.

The healer peered up at her through his thick bangs, yet another wide smile stretching from ear to ear. Hinamori wondered if his face ever got tired from grinning like that all the time.

"Ah, I was just wondering if you could tell me who it was who left these books? They are certainly an, er, unusual collection, aren't they?

Ogido chuckled a little uneasily. "That they are, yeah," he agreed, his eyes again flicking nervously toward the books. "'Course, I'm not really in a position to judge 'em, seeing as those there belong to Captain Hitsugaya."

For a moment, that name hung suspended in the air like a single snowflake. Then, Hinamori's liquid brown eyes blinked in confused surprise. "These are…Captain Hitsugaya's? What…why are…what are they…"

"What are they doing here?" finished Ogido. Seeing Hinamori's nod, the healer answered. "Well, obviously it's 'cause he was reading 'em, yeah?"

"But why _here_," Hinamori said, a little impatiently.

"Where else did'ja expect him to read them? I mean it woulda been hard for him to read 'em to ya if he was snuggled up all cozy in his office, right?"

"Hitsugaya-kun read to…me?"

"Yep, He sure did. Kinda the last thing you'd expect from a cold bas—I mean Captain like that, but yeah, he was in here 'bout every day, sittin' on that stool and giving that icy death glare of his to anybody who interrupted him. I've was on the receiving end of it a few years back, and I still get chills every time I see an ice cube."

"Hitsugaya-kun read to…me?" Hinamori repeated, her eyes wide. A dim memory briefly surfaced before sinking back into the murky depths of her subconscious. A black, hollow void, empty except for—

_…After an eternity of silence…a sound…a low, continuous babble, rising and falling… __A voice?_

"Yep, near every day for nine years," answered Ogido, interrupting her thoughts. "Well, actually in the beginning, he just came and talked. Then I guess he ran out of things to say, and so he just sat there and stared at ya for a few months. Then he started bringing those books, I dunno where he got 'em, and you know th' rest."

"Mmm" Hinamori acknowledged. Inside, she was still a little confused—and more than a little touched. She'd known that Hitsugaya considered her a friend, but she hadn't had any idea that she meant enough to him for him to take so much time away from his captain's duties and precious paperwork, and to do so for nine years, no less!

And for some reason, the knowledge that he cared—really cared—made her insides squiggle with happiness and set her heart aflutter.

She ran the fingers of her free hand lightly along the cloth-covered spines of the piled books. Her finger snagged on a trailing thread, and a sudden catching thought made her pause. Just where was Hitsugaya anyway? Ogido had said that he'd been here to see her nearly every day, and Hinamori had been out of her coma, though still asleep, for at least three. Had Hitsugaya visited her while she had been asleep? If then, why hadn't he stayed to see her wake? Brown eyes shot toward the vacant stool in the corner, almost as if she expected to see that the white-haired boy had been sitting there, unnoticed, the whole time.

Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Had he…had he…Hinamori fought to control a rising tide of panic. Had he simply thought that she no longer needed him, now that she was awake, and so had not come?

No, no, Hitsugaya-kun was not that kind of person, the logical part of her brain scolded the panicking part. There, calm down, breathe. _Breathe_. He had some good reason why he was absent. Yes, he was a captain, with time-consuming captain's duties, after all. Breathe. Just give him a few hours, and he'll come stomping through the door, scowling like usual, and everything will be… will be alright.

But her emotional side refused to be placated so easily. It had to know what was going on. The logical part figuratively threw up its hands and demanded that they at least get their body under control before letting any potentially embarrassing sounds spill out of their mouth.

A few deep breaths later, Hinamori was ready. "Excuse me, Ogido-san," she began, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "I was just wondering if you know where Captain Hitsugaya is? Has he stopped by since I woke up? The first time?

Ogido, who had long since resumed his work on her arm, looked up to stare her straight in the eyes. His ubiquitous smile seemed a little narrower, a little weaker. Hinamori wondered if this was because he had felt her quickened pulse and was concerned, or if something had indeed happened to childhood friend. She fiercely hoped that it was the former rather than the latter.

After a heavy pause, Ogido shrugged and went on with the healing. "Hollow-hunting mission," he said.

"Er, Hollow what?"

"Hunting mission," he repeated, not looking up from her arm. "He's off on a Hollow huntin' mission. Ya see, just at the war's end, a few of Aizen's Arrancar broke through our lines and vanished into the desert of Hueco Mundo. They've been poppin' up to wreak havoc ever since. Or wreak havoc as well as any headless mob can. They're only a nuisance really, but the rare strong one that crops up is too dangerous to let anybody but a captain handle."

"Ah," murmured Hinamori. A tiny edge of fear was beginning to claw its way back into her mind, but this time her logical self was prepared for it. There was no reason to worry about Hitsugaya-kun getting hurt, it admonished. He was a captain, a powerful captain after all. He'd probably taken out Espada during the war, and could no doubt beat a broken-masked Adjucas bloody in his sleep. There was no need to waste energy fretting about trivial things…

But one last matter still needed to be resolved. "Say, do you know when he'll be back? Captain Hitsugaya, I mean." Hinamori asked.

"Well, these missions don' last very long—less than a week, usually. I 'spect you'll see him pretty darn soon. I know that Captain Unohana sent him a hell butterfly sayin' you'd woken up, so he'll probably come shootin' in here like a bat out o' hell as soon as he gets back."

"Thanks, Ogido-san" said Hinamori. "sorry I kept pestering you."

"No problem, hun," the healer said, his wide grin restored to his face. "Anythin' to set your mind at ease."

So he had noticed her panic. So much for self-control.

"So if you don't have any more questions, Hinamori-san, I 'd like to finish your arm up right quick so the next guy can start healin' you. It's not that I don' mind talking to ya or nothin', but I've kinda got a hot date tonight, and well, she ain't good at waiting if ya know what I mean."

Hinamori assured him that it was no problem, that he should work as fast as he wished. Ogido only grunted his acknowledgement this time, his glowing fingers indeed sweeping twice as quickly over her skin as before.

And so Hinamori found herself in a similar predicament. She was bedridden in a small hospital room, only one arm available for her use.

But this time, things were different. A pale hand reached out and pulled the topmost book from the stack on the bedside table. Awkwardly opening it on her lap, Hinamori Momo bent forward and began to read.

_Once upon a time, in faraway kingdom …_

---

A warm spring breeze danced merrily through the garden, tossing the petals of fallen cherry blossoms about and ruffling Hinamori's hair. Idly watching the play of reflected clouds and drifting petals upon the surface of an ornamental pond, Hinamori herself was seated upon a bench beneath a plum tree, her feet bare and nestled in the cool grass.

It had taken a grueling four days, but the skilled healers of the Fourth Division had finally succeeded in rebuilding the withered muscles of her body. Though still as weak as a kitten, Hinamori had been allowed to walk as far as this garden, which had been set aside for the use of recuperating patients and was almost always deserted. She had taken to spending as much time here as possible, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight and the fresh air.

The wind swirled past, showering her with damp petals. Hinamori carefully dusted them from the folds of her plain kimono and from slim book resting on her lap. As her fingers traced the contours of the faded green cover, she couldn't help but smile a little.

During her healing, she had begun reading a few of Hitsugaya's books, only to find the words familiar, almost as if she had seen them before. However, it was words of this green book, a collection of European fairy tales, that burned clearest in her mind's eye. She supposed this to be so because it probably had been the last thing Hitsugaya had read to her before he left. But that was not the reason why this one out of all the others was her favorite. No, it was her favorite because of the silly little image that floated in her mind's eye whenever she thought of it.

Upon his admission to the Shinigami Academy, Hitsugaya Toshiro had refused to be associated with anything the least bit childish. After his ascendance to captaincy, that refusal had only intensified. Anyone who gave him toys or candy (with the notable exception of Captain Ukitake) or made a comment implying he was acting his physical age was dealt with swiftly and harshly. The chance to see Captain Hitsugaya behaving as anything other than a dour, grumpy, pseudo-adult was rare indeed.

And so Hinamori wished she could have seen him then. Seen him sitting on that high stool, his feet swinging well above the floor, the book open on his lap. Seen him reading aloud children's stories about princesses and dragons and happily-ever-afters. Seen, for just a moment, the little boy who spat watermelon seeds at her on a dusty street in Rukongai.

Nostalgia sweeping over her, Hinamori leaned back on the bench and closed her eyes to the bright sunlight. She missed him, she now realized. Not just because he hadn't yet returned to see her from whatever Hollow-hunting mission he had been sent on. No, she'd been missing him for even longer. For decades, she'd only run into him in Seireitei on rare occasion, and then almost always in public. There had been few smiles shared between them, and little of the playful teasing that had gone on between them as it had when they roamed the city streets together, sister and brother by bond if not by blood. Sometimes it seemed almost as though those years they had spent together had never happened at all.

Wrapped up in her thoughts, Hinamori didn't notice the Shinigami behind her until the woman gave a polite cough.

"Excuse me, Hinamori-san, but you have a visitor. Shall I allow him in?"

Hinamori nodded her consent, and the healer glided back across the garden. Setting the book down beside her with a soft sigh, Hinamori creaked to her feet. She tottered a few steps forward, coming to stand at the edge of the pond, one hand pressed against the trunk of the plum tree for support.

There she waited, still watching the clouds slide smoothly beneath the petals upon the water's surface.

A few moments later, the gravel pathway behind her crunched beneath sandaled feet. Hinamori gave no sign of acknowledgement, even when the footsteps ceased and the only sound was that of the wind flapping in the tails of a white captain's haori.

Closing her eyes again, she simply let his reiatsu wash over her like the warm sunlight. She had missed him so much.

Hinamori at last turned around to face him, her best cheerful smile stretched across her face.

"It has been a long time, Hitsugaya-kun."

---

**Author's Note (Whew)**

**EDIT February 10, 2008: Fixed a few small grammar and punctuation errors.**

**1) Eighth-Seat ****Ogido****Harunobu**** is an actual Kubo ****Tite**** character. Of course, he only has two cameo lines in the ****manga**** (which didn't make the anime), so I feel justified in using dramatic license.**

**2) I apologize again to those who were waiting for Hitsugaya to show up. At least you **_**hear**_** him in this ****chappie****. I'm planning on there being some fluff in the next chapter, so stick around!**

**3) A big "Thank you" to everyone who reviewed! ****freakaga1n****, Mizuki23, ****Inubaki****CallMeNicole****LoveToHateYou****ZangetsuUnleashed****, Pink ****Pritstick****, Merciless Ruby, ****whitehitsugaya****Ori****, y'all rock!**

**4) Well, if you liked this chapter or thought it was better than the previous one (I certainly do), leave me a comment! Comments make this authoress very happy and willing to write faster. Constructive criticism will be much appreciated as well.**


	3. It's Been a Long Time

**This chapter is dedicated to my two fish, Aethelwulf I (rest in peace) and Aethelwulf II (m****a****y he live long).**

* * *

"It has been a long time, Hitsugaya-kun," said Hinamori.

She had directed her words downward, expecting to see her childhood friend peering back up at her. Instead, Hinamori found the tip of her nose barely a hand's breadth from a wall of black cloth, a wall which she blinked at in confusion until she suddenly realized it to be the front of a Shinigami's uniform.

Wide brown eyes slowly traveled upwards. Up the black-clad chest, up past the neat "V" where cloth ended and flesh began, up the strong, graceful neck, higher and higher, finally coming to rest upon the face looming so far above her own.

"Shiro-chan?" she whispered.

The past nine years had wrought great change in Hitsugaya Toshiro's face. It was longer, narrower, possessing a stronger jaw and more prominent cheekbones. His wide forehead no longer dominated his face the way it once had, and though his silver-white hair was still combed fiercely back over his head, the spikes had been cut significantly shorter, giving them a softer, fluffier look that contrasted sharply with the sharp planes of his face.

His eyes, however, belied the passage of time, still burning with the same emerald fire.

And Hinamori could not look away. She stared, transfixed, taking in every detail and movement of her childhood friend's face. The thin pale scar cutting horizontally beneath his left eye. The three tiny silver hoops swinging from the lobe of one ear. The hypnotic way the flyaway strands of his hair ruffled in the breeze. The smooth slide of the muscles beneath his skin as his eyebrows drew together as the corners of his lips turned down into a scowl. The brief flash of his tongue and teeth as he opened his mouth—

"For the last time, Hinamori, it's not 'Shiro-chan,' it's 'Captain Hitsugaya!'"

It was these familiar words, said in a strange, deeper voice, that finally snapped Hinamori out of her trance. A heartbeat later, her brain finally registered how intimately close she was standing to him. With a startled squeak, she leapt backwards—

Only to realize too late that that there was nothing behind her but water.

One foot precariously balanced on the last remaining scrap of bank, Hinamori frantically pinwheeled her arms, fighting a losing battle with the forces of gravity. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for impact with the frigid water of the pond…

But the impact never came. Instead, Hinamori felt a pair of strong arms lock behind her shoulders and around her waist, accompanied by the rushing wind of shunpo. Opening her eyes, she found the side of her face firmly pressed into the dark fabric of Hitsugaya's kimono. High above her, she could see Hitsugaya himself glaring down at her, exasperation stamped across his face.

"Tch, you're still such a klutz, Hinamori!" he said.

She glared up at him, her face coloring. "I'm not a klutz! You just startled me a little!"

He snorted. "If that's how you react to a little surprise, what would you do with a big one? Jump out of your skin?"

She intensified her glare, squirming a bit in his tight hold. "At least I'm better than you," she said. "Remember that day in the summer after you turned twenty-seven? The one where you spent the whole morning up in the tree throwing peach pits at me? I seem to recall a particular beetle that flew straight at your face that made you shriek like a little girl and fall out right onto Granny's—"

His only warning a darkening of his scowl, Hitsugaya released her. Unexpectedly unsupported, Hinamori staggered back two steps before her weakened legs buckled beneath her, dropping her unceremoniously on her bum. But before she could make an effort to rise, she found herself hoisted to her feet by an odd black-and-white blur and half carried, half dragged back over to the bench beneath the plum tree.

"Ah, shit, Hinamori, I didn't mean to drop—I mean, I didn't think you'd fall like—I mean, I'm sorry…Wait, Hinamori, are you hurt? Dammit, I didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Hitsugaya-kun, I'm not hurt," interrupted Hinamori, a little taken aback by his sudden display of concern.

"…Because if you are, I can go get one of the healers for you…Actually, I think I really should—"

"I said I'm _fine_," Hinamori said, a little louder this time.

"Just wait right there, Hinamori, I'll go find Captain Unohana—"

"Wait, stop, Shiro-chan!" Hinamori yelped, reaching out to stop him as he turned to go. He instantly froze, stiff-backed, his green eyes trailing down to rest upon the pale hand clasped around his wrist.

"I'm alright, Shiro-chan," she whispered.

"You sure?" Those jewel-bright eyes were now boring into her own.

"Yes."

"Good," he grunted, roughly pulling his arm away. "And don't call me 'Shiro-chan'."

Hinamori returned her hand to her lap, fisting it in a fold of her kimono. Her palm felt strangely hot where she had touched him.

So. It had really been nine years, then. Unbidden, her eyes lifted to again regard the tall new form of her childhood friend. Hitsugaya stood stiffly off to one side, arms crossed across his chest, clothes and hair fluttering in the wind. There was little beyond his posture and coloration to indicate that he was still the boy she had known only a little under a decade before.

A little uneasy, she shifted in her seat. Cooped up in her hospital room, she hadn't really seen enough of the outside world to realize what that number entailed. Now, though, with concrete proof of the passage of time before her, she found herself regretfully wondering how much the rest of the world had changed without her. Wondering how many other people had changed. And not just in ways that could be seen. What of their lives, their personalities, their wishes, hopes, dreams, loves…

The seconds of awkward silence lengthened into minutes. Hinamori twisted her hands on her lap, her agitation slowly growing. Hitsugaya still hadn't said anything. She apprehensively wondered if this taciturnity was part of his character now. The thought was more than a little disconcerting.

Plucking up her courage, she cleared her throat. "Erm, Hitsugaya-kun…"

Deep green eyes turned upon her. "Yes?"

She had meant to thank him. Meant to thank him for catching her when she fell, for his concern, for coming to visit her in garden in the first place. Meant to thank him for spending so much time with her while she was unconscious, for reading to her, for proving that, after all these years, she was still important to him. But at the sound of his soft, deep voice, her nerve failed her. This strange, new version of Hitsugaya with his unfamiliar speech and face seemed almost a stranger. Too much a stranger to tell such heartfelt things to.

And so, shyness got the better of her.

"Er, well, I just wanted to say that it's a nice day, isn't it, Hitsugaya-kun?" Hinamori said, curling her toes in the grass.

He raised his chin to examine the sky. "I guess," he said, shrugging.

She gave a short, sharp laugh. "I forgot, you really don't like warm days like this! You spend all summer holed up in your office after all."

"It's not really _me_ who dislikes summer," he said, shrugging again. "Hyourinmaru just gets cranky when he overheats."

Despite not knowing how he would take it, she couldn't resist the opening he left. "Why? Is he afraid of melting?"

" ... "

"Will he turn into 'Puddle-maru'?"

" ... "

"'Slosh upon the dripping heavens' and all that?"

"Stupid bed-wetter Momo."

Hinamori couldn't help but giggle at his juvenile comeback. The sheer familiarity of it helped to begin to relieve the anxiety which had been gripping her heart. She found herself relaxing against the bench, her breathing a little easier.

She closed her eyes, basking in his reiatsu. Like this, she could almost imagine it was the Hitsugaya of old who stood beside her, dressed in his ragged gray smock, the stains of watermelon juice smeared around his mouth. Their conversation just moments before had proved that the boy she remembered was still with her…

It was a sudden tap on the side of her head, like the peck of an irritated bird, that at last snapped Hinamori back to reality. Opening her eyes and twisting around, she abruptly found herself nose to nose with the unexpectedly older, angular face her childhood friend.

For the briefest of moments, she remained frozen, staring at her own misty reflection mirrored in his emerald eyes. Then, with a shriek, Hinamori flung herself down the length of the bench, collapsing on the far side in a tangle of shivering limbs and frayed nerves.

A strange, hurt expression crossed Hitsugaya's face. It only lasted an instant, though, before it dissolved back into his customary scowl. "You had a cherry blossom stuck in your hair," he said by way of explanation, opening his fingers. A delicate pink petal, caught by the spring breeze, spiraled up from his palm.

Her face flaming, Hinamori could only mumble an embarrassed apology. Hitsugaya just dismissed it with a snort and a familiar eyeroll before resuming his original, stiff-backed stance next to the bench. One bright eye, however, remained fixed on her end, as though he were afraid she might bolt again.

The seconds ticked by. Hinamori's awkward embarrassment did not lessen, but a trickle of self-anger began to well up deep inside her. Why in the King's name had she recoiled like that? She knew she'd hurt her friend's feelings. And she had no excuse for her rude behavior. Just because he looked a bit different didn't mean that she had to be…afraid of him, even if it was just for a moment.

She turned to look at Hitsugaya, hoping to catch his eye so she could properly apologize. Hitsugaya was indeed now facing her, but his gaze rested at the level of her forehead. As she watched, his eyebrows drew together slightly, deepening his scowl by a few degrees.

"Er…Hitsugaya-kun?" What? Was she turning orange or something?

His eyebrow twitched. "You still have flowers in your hair," he growled.

She raised her hand to her head. Sure enough, when she pulled it away, a pair of damp petals clung to her fingers. "Oh. I guess I do." She laughed.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to take the rest out?"

"There are more of them?"

He shot her an exasperated look. Hinamori laughed again, but she raised both hands and began hunting through her windblown hair for the elusive blossoms. As she felt about, she watched Hitsugaya out of the corner of her eye. His vivid eyes were riveted to her fingers, watching intently as they skimmed back and forth. His own hands, hanging at his sides, spasmodically clenched into fists.

Hinamori forced back a giggle. It was obvious that her blind progress was aggravating to a neat-freak like him. If not for that odd light in his eyes, he might have been watching someone inefficiently rearranging his own desk.

"So, have I gotten them all yet?"

Hitsugaya's scowl darkened slightly. "No. There's one above your ear. And a bunch more still on top."

"Here?"

"A little to your left." His eyebrow was twitching again.

"Here?" She actually knew exactly where this particular petal was—she could feel its warm skin tickling the rim of her ear.

"Your other left. No—higher. Lower! Lower! Gahhh!"

Hinamori had to choke back another giggle. Her repeated "failures" to capture the errant petal had now contorted his face into an expression of irritation so deep as to seem ridiculous. She swept another hand through her hair, intentionally missing the blossom by an eyelash. "Do I have it yet?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Hitsugaya made a sound like a cross between a frustrated snort, a sigh, and a growl, and smacked a long-fingered hand over his eyes. When he lowered it, his face had resolved itself into a carefully neutral expression. The descending hand altered direction, slowly reaching out toward Hinamori. "Here—let me get it for you," he said, his voice oddly soft.

She froze. She'd expected him to scowl. She'd expected him to scowl, to call her stupid, to stomp off in a huff. She'd expected to then have the excuse to laugh at him, to call him by his dreaded nickname, to hear his familiar indignant response. That's what would have happened, should have happened. But instead…

She eyed the outstretched hand. A feeling of unease was settling down upon her. The whole situation seemed somehow wrong—_he_ seemed wrong. A tiny part of her mind began urgently whispering for her to flee, to jump off the bench, to hobble away as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her.

But she stayed in place. The logical part of her mind had awakened, and was fiercely reminding her that this was _Hitsugaya_. The same Hitsugaya whom she'd known her entire life—er, death—her childhood friend. The same Hitsugaya, who, no matter how different he looked or acted, had no reason to hurt her, no reason to inspire this unnatural, blind fear.

But it wasn't until he dropped his hand, the hurt look forming again in his eyes, that Hinamori self-consciously scooted back along the bench toward him.

His touch was tentative, cautious, expressing with every flick of his fingers through the thin strands of her hair the concern that if he spooked her, she would bolt like a startled deer. He shouldn't have worried. At the first brush of his hand, she could feel the tension flow out of her, replaced by a feeling of deep contentment. If she were a cat, she would have purred. Instead, she leaned back into the bench, a small sigh escaping her lips.

"Your hair has gotten long." His low voice buzzed in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"Ah, I guess," she said, her face coloring. She looped one elbow-length lock around her hand, lifting it to her face to study it. "It wasn't like I could get it cut while I was asleep, you know. I think the healers must have trimmed it at some point, or else it would be dragging on the ground by now, but—"

A pale, long-fingered hand reached down and gently tugged the lock from her grasp. Gasping, Hinamori turned to stare up at Hitsugaya, who was intently examining the length of her hair now draped across his broad palm. And the _way_ he was looking at it…

"Hitsugaya-kun, what are you doing?" Hinamori squeaked, her face flushing.

He didn't answer immediately, instead twining the dark brown strands around his fingers. Finally he spoke, in that same, oddly soft tone he'd used earlier. "You still have a petal stuck in your hair."

Hinamori swallowed hard. She knew that he'd already picked all the blossoms out earlier, and there was no way one could be hiding in such a small piece. However, she sensed that if she called him on this, the awkwardness of the moment would only increase.

Desperate for something to fill the uncomfortable silence with, she wracked her brain for some kind of conversation topic. "So, ummm…" she began. "So I've been thinking that I should change the way I wear my hair…"

"Why would you do that?" The way he was twisting the lock around his hand was rather…distracting. No wonder she couldn't think of anything else right now to talk about.

She shook her head to clear it. "Well, it's gotten too long for my old style, right?. So it's either time for something new or I'll have to cut it."

"Don't cut it."

She blinked. "Why ever not?"

"Because," he said absently, watching the falling strands spill through his fingers. "The way it is now, it's…beautiful."

There was a second of stunned silence. Then…

"Wh—what did you say?" Hinamori squeaked.

He shot her an irritated glance, the corners of his lips turning down into a half-scowl. "I said," he growled, "that your hair's—" His face froze, wide eyed, mouth open, gaping.

"You—you said 'beautiful."

Hitsugaya's face paled, then rapidly turned crimson. He dropped the lock of hair, stepping back to defensively cross his arms across his chest. "There's no way I would ever—I'd never—I most certainly did not!" he spluttered.

Coupled with his hostile reaction, the shade of deep burgundy his face had become proved too much for Hinamori. She doubled over, hands clamped over her mouth, trying and ultimately failing to contain the giggling fit that shook her whole frame. Hitsugaya glared at her at first, clearly affronted, but as Hinamori's laughter continued, the edges of his lips cracked into a thin smile.

After a minute or two, Hinamori had finally calmed down enough to be able to speak. "All right, all right" she gasped out, her shoulders still heaving. "I won't cut it."

He started, the smile falling from his face. "Wh—what? Why?"

She bent forward, dropping her gaze to her lap. "Because," she said, smiling at her interlaced hands. "You asked me not to."

"Tch. What kind of stupid reason is that? "

Wide brown eyes snapped up to gape at Hitsugaya. He was staring down at her, arms still folded, his expression unreadable. One white eyebrow twitched.

"Well, it is a stupid reason, isn't it? 'Because you asked me not to?' What, are you going to follow all my orders now?"

Hinamori could feel the blood rising in her cheeks. "No, it's—it's not like that! I just…I mean, I'd thought you'd like…I just wanted—"

"Either tell me or don't. Don't take all day."

"I—I just wanted to thank you!" She was glaring at him now, but he simply matched her glare with a slightly puzzled look. "I wanted to thank you for…everything".

He raised one eyebrow. "Everything?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Yes, everything. The sun, the moon, the stars, the invention of the reiatsu-powered florescent light bulb…"

He actually laughed at this—a single low bark.

"So, er…" Hinamori began again. "Really, I do want to thank you. They—the healers—told me how you would come in to read to me while I was asleep and I, I…" She swallowed, lowering her eyes to the grass. "I wanted to tell you how much that means to me. How much I appreciate what you did."

There was a pause. "So I am to understand," he said slowly, "that your…disinclination… to cut your hair was a gesture of gratitude?"

She nodded mutely.

"Stupid bed wetter. As if it matters to me what the hell you do with your hair."

It was as though an invisible hand had reached into her chest and clenched around her heart. A rushing sound filled her ears, almost blocking out Hitsugaya's next words.

"Just get better. That's all that matters to me."

The rushing rose to a roar as Hinamori raised her eyes. _He_ was standing directly in front of her now, white hair and haori fluttering in the breeze. His brilliant emerald eyes glittered as he stared downwards, as though reflecting the fires of his soul, hypnotic, flickering.

But Hinamori did not notice.

Because on his face, brighter than even his eyes, was a smile.

A real, genuine smile, not one tinged with bitterness or sarcasm or that slightly self-mocking flavor that had poisoned the one he'd flashed her when she'd laughed at him. No, this was a real smile, the kind that showed in his eyes, the kind that lit up his whole face, the kind of smile that was only seen on those rare occasions when Hitsugaya was really, truly happy.

A real smile. And it was directed solely at her.

_Oh. __So t__hat would mean…_

"Oi, Hinamori!" He was waving his hand in front of her face, his smile replaced with a slightly annoyed look. "Wake up, you silly—" His eyes widened. "Hinamori, are you…are you crying?"

With what sounded remarkably like a wail, Hinamori pitched herself forward, burying her face against the front of Hitsugaya's black uniform, her hands rising up to grip the sides of his haori.

She felt him stiffen. "Er…Hinamori? What are you…?" He trailed off. When he spoke again, it was in a much more gentle tone. "Look, Hinamori, I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, so—"

"You didn't upset me," she mumbled into his chest.

"I...what? Then why the heck are you crying?" She could all but taste the confusion infusing his reiatsu.

She raised her tear-streaked face to meet his vivid eyes with her own liquid brown ones. The corners of her lips quirked upwards. "I'm crying, Hitsugaya-kun, because I am happy. These are tears of happiness."

He blinked down at her, his confusion seemingly not abating one whit.

"I'm crying because I thought…I thought, for a minute after you said that thing you said that you really didn't care and that you only had come to see me because someone made you or you felt you had some kind of obligation to stay with me and, and…" She knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. The words just kept gushing out. "…But then you said that other thing and smiled at me and I knew that you really did care and I'm happy that you're still the s-same person and, and…I've missed you so much, Hitsugaya-kun!"

"You're crying 'cause you missed me?" She could tell by his tone that he hadn't understood most of what she had said. "That's just stupid."

All the same, his long arms lifted to loop about her waist and shoulders, holding her tightly to his chest.

_Wrong. Wrong. Fear. _

_Wrongfearwrongrun. Run run __ runrunrun. Trapped. Fight. Fight. Bite scratch. Break. _

_Fightfightfight. NotRealWrong fe__ar run fight go escape run run run—_

It was as though a switch had been flipped. The fear was everywhere, boiling up inside her, overflowing. Every muscle in her body was stiff with it, screaming with it. Her mouth was desert-dry, her palms were slicked with sweat, her heart was thundering in her breast. She could not think—the fear burned like a fire in her brain. She could not move, her body was paralyzed with it. Dimly, she was aware of Hitsugaya calling her name over and over, but she could not answer him with her desiccated tongue and rusted jaw.

"Hinamori? Hinamori! Hinamori, what's wrong? Answer me, dammit! Hinamori!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**1) Fu fu fu… another cliffie. Actually, I didn't plan to abruptly ****end the chapter here, but I figured it'd be more dramatic if I did. (evil grin)**

**2) Sorry for the long wait. I unfortunately contracted an acute case of writer's block while composing this chapter (dialogue is not really my forte). I'm still not fully satisfied with it, so I may revise it at some point—my transitions are a little shaky and I have the sneaking suspicion Hinamori and Hitsugaya are out of character. I figured, though, that y'all ****would ****want a chapter more than you want a****n**** indefinitely delayed ****epitome of ****fanfiction ****excellence.**

**3) I have a spifftastic announcement—"Awakenings" will now be illustrated! By me. Whoot. If you're interested, I've got the links to the chapter pictures on my profile. And if anyone ever wants to draw me any fanfic-fanart, I'd be glad to post those links, too.**

**4) A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed since the posting of the last chapter!**** This means you, ****Forthwo, Inubaki, whitehitsugaya, Ori, cherryblossom hime, Gothic Queen, Mizuki23, CallMeNicole, Hinamori-fukutaichou, IchigoluvsRukiaforever, Queeney, Sicilian Maiden, SweetAyu****, and that mysterious reviewer only known as " - "**

**5) Questions? Responses? Constructive criticism? Boosts ****to**** the authoress's ego? Click that little blue box and comment. You know you want to.**


	4. Something Was Wrong

**Hi everybody! Sorry about the delay between the last chapter and this one! But I have a good excuse! Actually, I have four good excuses!**

**1) Midterms (five of 'em) **

**2) Research papers (two of 'em) **

**3) The Code Geass anime, season one (twenty-five episodes worth—and Lulu FTW!!) **

**4) Italian Baroque opera (don't ask—my ears are still bleeding…)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

_White._

_Everything was white. _

_Empty. Nothingness. Void._

_Except…_

_A dark flicker at the edge of her vision. A fleeting shadow._

_She turned, expecting to see its caster behind her. Only the encompassing blankness met her eyes._

_A ghostly chuckle marred the pressing silence. Another shadow flashed past._

_Again she turned, and again, nothing._

_Then—_

_An icy metal blade pressed against her throat. Hot breath whispered against the back of her neck._

"_Just tell them, Momo." The voice was high, cold. A woman's? A child's? It was horrifyingly familiar._

"_Wh—who are you?"_

"_Just answer their questions, and you'll be safe and I can save you so you'll be safe and they cannot hurt you and—"_

"_Answer whose questions? Just who are you?"_

_A hand caressed her cheek, the tenderness of the gesture a stark contrast to the sword scraping her throat._

"_You know who I am, Momo. I am—"_

* * *

Upon opening her eyes, Hinamori Momo felt a strong case of déjà vu.

She was once again lying in her bed back in the Fourth's medical center. Spring sunlight and birdsong streamed in through the open window. The same clear vase sat on her bedside table, the flowers inside nodding in the slight breeze. Off to her left sat Captain Unohana, her face as serene and blank as ever. And on her right, his features etched with concern, was Hitsugaya.

Hitsugaya.

Like a breaking wave, the events of her last few moments in the garden came crashing back. For a single instant, a spike of that strange, impossibly intense terror slashed through her system, but then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, leaving Hinamori gasping, her heart thundering in her chest, her skin slicked with cold sweat.

"Hinamori? Hinamori, are you alright?" Hitsugaya was on his feet, leaning over the bed, alarm flickering across his face.

"I-I'm alright, H-hitsugaya-kun." Her voice sounded rusty, as though her throat was filled with iron filings. Captain Unohana wordlessly handed her a glass of water, which Hinamori gulped down gratefully.

"You certainly don't look alright," Hitsugaya growled, settling back on the stool where he had been sitting moments earlier.

"I'm fine, really." Her voice was steadier now, but her hands were still trembling. "So, er…" she looked from face to face. "What happened?"

A scowl bloomed into being on Hitsugaya's face, but Unohana just raised an eyebrow. "Actually, Hinamori-san, we were wondering if you could tell us," she said.

Hinamori shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "I-I don't know. I remember talking to Hitsugaya-kun in the garden and, er, hugging him, and then I, I…" She struggled to find the words. "I felt…I don't know. Like I was afraid of…something. Something was just... just _wrong_."

"'_Something was wrong'_?" Hitsugaya's eyes were blazing, a pair of emerald stars. "Dammit, Hinamori, you were having some kind of fit! I had to call the garden attendant to have you sedated! And all you can say is that something was _wrong_?" His hands, resting on his thighs, were clenched into white-knuckled fists. Angry reiatsu rolled off him in waves—Hinamori found herself suffocating beneath the pressure of it.

"Captain Hitsugaya, control yourself!" The captain of the Fourth Division's command contained an unusually sharp edge.

The pressure vanished. Hinamori slumped forward, gasping for breath. Unohana soothingly patted her shoulder, but she could only sit by helplessly as tears began leaking from her patient's eyes.

"C-captain, there's something wrong with me, isn't there?" Hinamori choked out. Well, duh, of course there was something wrong with her. She was having _fits_ now, right? And she couldn't even withstand a simple blast of non-combat reiatsu. And that—that irrational fear that had come over her…was she now going crazy as well? Weird, inexplicable feelings were a sign of madness, right?

Unohana's hand stilled on her shoulder. "Hinamori-san…"

"Please, Captain, just tell me."

"Hinamori-san, what you need to remember—and what the rest of us should remember as well—is that you have only just returned from a more horrific experience than any of us could possibly conceive of. Those monsters, those _Arrancar,_ had you in their claws for more than a month, and though you display no physical damage from their torture, I cannot imagine what mental scarring you must bear."

Ah._Mental scarring_. So that was it, then. Hinamori fisted a hand in the folds of her sheets, vaguely noting how her skin was only a few shades darker than the pale fabric. Officially cracked, that was what she was now. Officially weak, officially useless. Officially—

"Broken." Without meaning to, she had whispered the last word aloud. She didn't think Unohana had heard her, but Hitsugaya certainly had. His hands were clenched impossibly tighter, as if in intensified anger, but his scowl was now tinged with something softer, weaker.

_Please, please, don't let that be pity. I can't be that pathetic, can I? Am I? Please…_

She began to cry again.

"There, there, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Think of your condition as a war wound, honorably gained in the service of Soul Society." Unohana patted her shoulder. Hinamori felt like crying harder.

"And I take full responsibility for your episode in the garden, Hinamori-san," Unohana continued. "I was negligent in my duties as a healer. I was delighted at your quick recovery and did not properly account for the possibility of repressed trauma. And for that, I am truly sorry. I do hope you can forgive me, once this is all cleared up, Hinamori-san."

Wide brown eyes snapped around to stare at the Fourth's captain incredulously. "Cleared up?" Hinamori squeaked. "You mean I'm not going to be crazy forever? I can go back to the way I was before?" A bubble of hope swelled in her chest.

Unohana flashed her patented blank smile. "I have no idea about what you're talking about by this 'craziness' you speak of, but, yes, it is decidedly possible for you to make a full recovery from your condition. Believe me, if we had to put out to pasture every Shinigami who was affected by a traumatic experience, we'd have few left. The process takes time, that's all, and more than a little effort on your part, but you should be right as rain when all is through." Unohana's smile faded slightly. "However, there is one significant problem…"

Hinamori's heart sank.

"You see, Hinamori-san," said Unohana, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on her knees and her chin lay on her interlaced fingers. "The common practice for mental trauma such as yours is extensive verbal and written therapy. You remember those talks you had with the Fourth's psychologist just after you recovered from Aizen's stabbing, yes?"

Hinamori did remember. She remembered the long hours closeted in a room in the stifling early-autumn heat as the tiny old Shinigami patiently picked apart the story she had fabricated in her own mind to justify Aizen's actions. It had taken many sessions, but eventually, Hinamori had come to accept that the man she had admired, no, _loved,_ for the past forty years had indeed betrayed her and all of Soul Society.

"Though the reasons for which you have needed treatment are quite different, the goals are the same. Essentially, the therapy is intended to force the patient to re-live their experiences through speaking or writing about them, and thereby force acceptance and enable the patient to cope. Now, Hinamori-san, can you see where the problem in all this lies?"

"Well,_I_ don't see the problem," interrupted Hitsugaya. "Why would re-living an experience be a problem for her?"

"Because," Hinamori said bitterly. "I can't remember anything that happened."

Green eyes went wide. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing, Hitsugaya-kun," she replied softly. "I can't even remember the day I was taken to Hueco Mundo. Everything's a total blank. The_one_ thing I can remember at all is Captain Aizen putting me in a coma. And my only memories after that are from when I woke up here."

"I see," the Tenth's captain murmured as he slumped down on his stool. "Since you can't remember what happened, there's no way you can possibly re-live th—Hey, wait just a minute!" He leapt to his feet, the stool clattering to the floor. "How the hell," he all but shouted at Unohana, pointing his shaking hand at Hinamori, "can something she can't remember make her freak out like that? She shouldn't even be affected!" Once again, his reiatsu blazed through the room.

"Captain Hitsugaya, I have told you already to control your reiatsu. Either seal it, or leave this hospital! I shall _not_ tell you again!"

The blinding pressure flared angrily before fading away.

"Thank you, Captain. And in response to your outburst…" Unohana sighed. "Do not forget, people are affected by experiences they do not remember all the time. A person's experiences in early childhood can even be said to affect his or her everyday actions." She ran a hand down her long braid, a subtle sign of agitation. "While cases such as Hinamori's, involving severe reaction to forgotten trauma, are relatively rare, they are not unheard of. Unfortunately, they are also much more difficult to treat."

"So is there anything that can be done?" asked Hinamori. "Please, I don't want to be stuck like this."

_Please, please say yes. I don't want to feel that mad fear again. I don't want to worry wait for it to strike because I don't know what brings it on. I-I don't want Hitsugaya-kun to look at me like that, to be angry because of me again. Please, just say yes…_

Unohana gently ruffled her patient's hair. "I said 'difficult to treat', Hinamori-san, not impossible."

The bubble of hope was back in Hinamori's chest, expanding so quickly that she thought she might burst with happiness.

"The trick in all of this, I think," said Unohana, smiling a little now, "is to enable you to regain your memories. When you do, we will be able to help you work through your reactions to them. Luckily, the fact that you still are having nightmares proves that—"

"Nightmares?" interjected Hitsugaya.

"Most nights, I dream about what happened to me there," said Hinamori. "And no, I can't remember what happens in them either," she said, anticipating her friend's next question. "All I remember is that they're…not nice." She shivered.

"_Proves that_," continued the Fourth's captain, as though she had never been interrupted, "your memories still exist somewhere in your mind. We do not know, though, if they are buried because you unconsciously repressed them or because of some kind of kidou binding or interference. Knowing Aizen, I do not doubt the latter, though I would rather assume the former. For now, Hinamori-san, I would like you to move to the Fourth's rehabilitation clinic on the southern side of Seireitei. There, we can keep you under medical surveillance and begin to employ hypnosis and meditation techniques in order to…"

Unohana was still speaking, but her voice had faded into a dull murmur in Hinamori's ears. Instead, the words "keep you under…surveillance" seemed to echo around her, little sharp-edged waves of sound, cutting and splitting and slicing…

_White walls. White walls all around. No windows. One door. The harsh clicking of claws against the smooth stone floor. The sound of ragged breathing through fanged mouths._

"_Watch her, y—"_

_White walls. White walls all around._

"_Watch her, you maggots. If Aizen-sama's little pet succeeds in killing—"_

_No windows._

"—_ama's little pet succeeds in killing herself this time, you'll think I've been kind to the little bitch 'af—"_

_One door._

"—_nd to the little bitch 'afore I'm done with you all."_

_White walls. White walls all around. No windows. One door. The harsh clicking of claws against the smooth stone floor. The sound of ragged breathing through fanged mouths._

"_Watch her, y—"_

"—by sunset. Excuse me, Hinamori-san, are you alright?"

Hinamori blinked. "Ah, yes, I'm fine, Captain Unohana. I think I may have just dozed off there for a second. Sorry." she shook her head. What had just happened? Had she blacked out?

The Fourth's captain raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the issue. "So, as I was saying, Hinamori-san, that, with your permission we will begin transferring you to the rehabilitation clinic tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Oh, yes, of cour—"

Fear.

_No!_

Fear.

Not quite the same, biting, clawing, screaming terror she had felt in the garden, but powerful fear nonetheless. Fear centered upon the idea of going to that _place_.

Fearfearfearfear.

She clenched her hands into fists, her nails painfully digging into her palms. She would not let this fear stop her from going. She would not let this fear, her own madness, stop her from going to the one place where it could be destroyed. She would not!

She would not!

Slowly, slowly, the fear ebbed away, fading to a faint whisper, a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. Hinamori let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and opened her eyes, which she hadn't noticed she'd shut.

Unohana was watching her intently, her expression a blank mask. Hitsugaya was on his feet, his face marked with the same concern he'd worn when Hinamori had woken up just minutes before. This time, though, one of his hands was hovering near her shoulder, as if he'd wanted to take hold of her but had lost his nerve.

"Hinamori? Are you alright?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

She twisted her face into what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. "Perfectly alright, Hitsugaya-kun!" she chirped. "I just felt a little ill for a second, that's all!"

"Please, Hinamori-san," said Unohana, her voice as expressionless as her face. "Do not try to deceive us. You were not 'a little ill' then; you are not 'perfectly alright' now. Tell us what happened. Truthfully"

Hinamori quailed beneath that blank stare. Somehow, it seemed worse than if the Fourth's captain had been shouting at her. She dropped her eyes to her lap, twisting her hands in the sheets. "I-I had another—I mean, I felt that, that fear again, I was afraid because of something that happened…"

"You were affected by your trauma again, yes?" Unohana asked.

Her patient nodded.

"Do you have any idea of what brought it on?"

"I-I'm not really sure. I think it had something to do with going to the rehabilitation clinic..."

"Have you ever been to that particular clinic?

"No, Captain."

"Perhaps then it was the idea of going to an unknown place that set it off," Unohana mused. From the top of the bedside table, she took a previously unnoticed file, flipped it open, and began writing inside. She suddenly paused, raising her head to peer at Hinamori. "From now on, Hinamori-san, you need to inform someone whenever you have one of these…attacks. Any scrap of information you can give us at all may provide the essential clue we need for solving your predicament. Do you understand?"

Hinamori felt the slightest edge of resentment well up inside her. Though she knew the Fourth's captain had her best interests in mind, she couldn't help but feel as if she was being treated as some kind of difficult puzzle that needed to be solved.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

The pen made a few more passes across the page before Unohana closed the file with a snap. She set the file down on the table and neatly folded her hands in her lap.

"I have decided," she said, "that it would be best not to send you the rehabilitation clinic after all. I think it would be best not to put you in a facility that affects you so. Mostly because of the stress it would place you under, but also because the fear of the place may mask your reactions to other stimuli. Instead, I will assign a few of my Division members to monitor you here and see that—"

_Don't react, don't react, keep smiling, no, don't clench your hands, don't grit your teeth, just don't react…_

The fear was back, bubbling up in her stomach, threatening at any moment to pour, shrieking, from her throat. She knew she should say something, like she had promised, but she could not.

She would not.

She would not let the fear her stop her from staying here and having it vanquished, once and for all.

Surely Unohana had noticed her odd behavior—the Fourth's captain had stopped speaking, and that horrible blankness was sliding over her features again—

"If I may make a suggestion?"

Hinamori jumped. Until he had spoken, she had almost forgotten Hitsugaya was there.

"Captain Unohana, is it really necessary for Hinamori to stay in one of the Fourth's facilities?" he asked, his tone starkly professional. "Would it be possible for her, instead, to commute to the hospital for her therapy sessions and suchlike?"

Unohana reluctantly turned her attention away from Hinamori and to focus on her fellow captain. "I suppose that _is_ a possibility," she admitted.

Hitsugaya's face remained composed into a neutral expression, but his vivid eyes flicked toward Hinamori. "In that case, I would like to extend an offer for her to stay in the Tenth Division's compound for the duration of her treatment."

One of Unohana's eyebrows slid upwards. "And what would be the benefit in accepting such an offer?"

Hitsugaya's eyes flicked again to Hinamori. "Her overall mental health, for one," he said. "She has spent the past nine years in a hospital environment, and I believe it would do her good to experience the outside world again. And secondly," he paused, his eyes sliding to pale girl on the bed once more. "Secondly, while we were in the garden, it was to me Hinamori displayed an unusual reaction to two, if not three, times. It seems then, that my presence is able to bring whatever is affecting her to the fore. Therefore, more information on her condition could be obtained from staying…near me…than if she were in the hospital."

Unohana seemed to be considering his words carefully. After a moment, she spoke. "Your arguments appear valid, Captain Hitsugaya. However I must express concern in

one aspect of your proposal. I do not believe that the Tenth's barracks to be a conducive environment for a recovering invalid and—"

"I was never intending to place Hinamori in the barracks, Captain," Hitsugaya interjected smoothly. "One of my seated officers has recently left the Division, and his private room should provide suitable accommodation."

Unohana was examining at him intently, as if she was weighing his motives. After a long minute, she finally nodded. "Very well, then. Tomorrow, we will begin Hinamori-san's transfer to the Tenth's headquarters after—"

"Hey!" Hinamori spoke up. "Don't I get any say in this?" She had stayed quiet through the two captains' exchange, feeling a little like a child left out of a conversation between adults. She had had the suspicion that something was passing beneath the surface of the discussion, and had instinctively stayed silent rather than accidentally disturb it. Now, though, she felt a little resentful that her fate was being decided without her even being asked.

The Fourth's captain gave her a small smile. "Of course you do, Hinamori-san."

Hinamori blinked. That had been easy.

"So,_do_ you want to be transferred to stay at the Tenth's compound?"

Hinamori thought about it. Did she want to? Well, it was certainly it would be better than staying here, in this hospital. She'd have more freedom, and there wouldn't be any random healers popping in at odd hours to check up on her. Her "condition" didn't seem to be objecting to the idea of moving to the Tenth, either. Over the past few minutes, the fear writhing inside her had faded into nothingness, and it didn't seem inclined to come screaming out anytime soon. What else…The food probably was better there, too. And she'd be able to see Hitsugaya every day…

She raised her eyes to meet the glittering emerald gaze of the silver-haired Captain of the Tenth Division. He gave her a tiny smile, raising one white eyebrow.

_Well, do you? _the look seemed to ask.

Hinamori turned back to the Captain of the Fourth. "Yes, Captain Unohana," she said. "I would be honored to accept the hospitality of the Tenth Division." She then gave a little half-bow in Hitsugaya's direction. When she straightened back up, he wore a definite grin across his face, a grin which for some reason set Hinamori to blushing.

"Very good, Hinamori-san," Unohana said, also smiling. "And now, I fear I must go and find the necessary paperwork for the transfer. Until later, then. Captain Hitsugaya, Hinamori-san, I bid you goodbye."

And with that, she rose to her feet, bowed to each of them, and swept out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her.

Silence filled the room.

"So, erm, Hitsugaya-kun…" Hinamori began. She'd been planning to say this, but it felt like Unohana had taken the easy atmosphere out with her when she'd left.

"What?"

In contrast with the empty, business-like tone he had used earlier, his voice now sounded a little surly. The smile also had disappeared from his face, leaving behind a neutral scowl. Instead of being discouraged by this, though, Hinamori felt slightly relieved. A happy Hitsugaya who actually showed his happiness for more than a minute seemed a trifle unnatural.

"Hitsugaya-kun, I-I'm sorry for what happened, in the garden," she said quietly. "You know I didn't mean to, um, freak out on you like that. I mean, I'm sorry I made you so angry…"

"I wasn't angry," he said. He tipped the stool back on two legs, leaning up against the wall and shutting his eyes, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "I was just worried."

"W-worried? About me?" Hinamori squeaked. That had not been what she'd been expecting.

One green eye slit open. "Of course, stupid," he said. "Who else was there to worry about?"

"Hitsugaya-kun…"

"Oi! Don't you start crying those freaky 'happy' tears on me agai—Wait, those are happy tears, right?"

"Of course they are, silly," she said between sniffles. "What other kind would I be crying right now?"

"How the hell would I know? You do weird shi—stuff all the time."

She glared at him, her vision slightly blurry from her tears. "_Like what_, Shiro-chan?"

He matched her glare with a one-eyed glower. "Well, you can never just spit out what you want to say, can you? You just stutter and sit there, waffling. It's kinda irritating. And you apologize way too much. You're _always_ apologizing, even if isn't your fault. And it's 'Captain Hitsugaya,' by the way."

"Alright,_Captain_. So what do you, in your infinite wisdom, think I should I do instead?"

"Instead of apologize? I dunno. Thank people instead, I guess."

"Well, then, _thank you_, Hitsugaya-kun, for worrying about me," Hinamori said fiercely. She blinked, realizing what she had just said.

The emerald eye slid closed. "You're welcome, Hinamori," the silver-haired young man murmured.

Hinamori could feel the color rising in her cheeks. She shook her head, trying to clear her head after the sound of his soft, low voice had so well filled it with cotton. Finally she managed to stutter out, "r-really, Hitsugaya-kun, thank you for worrying, really. And," she spoke quickly, worried that he might interrupt, "thank you f-for offering to let me stay in the Tenth's compound. I know you really didn't have to do that, so it means a lot. To me, I mean."

Hitsugaya snorted dismissively. "Of course I had to let you stay there. You were on the verge of panic just _thinking_ about staying in this hospital. And besides, I could never let the person I…" he seemed to check himself, "could never let an old friend like you go uncared for."

Hinamori twisted her hands in her sheets, her face still burning. "But, won't I cause problems being there? I'll be taking up part of the officer's quarters, after all…I-I don't want to be a burden."

"You won't be a burden," he said. With a loud clunk, he tipped the stool back on all four legs, spinning around as he did so to face her directly, on hand under his chin. Both glittering, jewel-bright eyes were wide open, pinning her in place with the intensity of their gaze. "You won't be a burden," he repeated. "Unless…" his lips parted in a mischievous smirk, "you insist in making a certain kind of mess, _Bed-Wetter_ Momo."

Hinamori's face flamed crimson in embarrassment. In a split second, she ripped her pillow out from behind her and threw it across the room, smacking him satisfyingly in the face.

"You know I outgrew that habit _decades_ ago, Shiro-chan!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**1) Blah, blah, blah, exposition, blah. I hope the bit of fluff at the end compensated for the overall boringness of the chapter. But it had to be written. Blah. The next chapter is gonna have an explosion in it, so hopefully it'll be more exciting. In other news, now everybody knows this fic is not going to be sunshine-and-daisies fluff. I hope I don't drive away readers 'cuz of this…**

**2) YAY! EXPLOSIONS :D**

**3) All I know about post-traumatic stress disorder comes from a Wikipedia article I read. Therefore, don't assume anything about psychology in this chapter is true. And if you know that what I've written is totally off the mark, just suspend your disbelief and pretend it works differently for dead people. Actually, Hinamori's case is unusual even for dead people because…well, I'll explain later. **

**And for the people who are offended because I used the words "crazy" and "madness" to refer to PTSD, well, you should notice that they're all Hinamori's opinions, not mine.**

**4) Just a reminder. Links for the illustrations for this chapter and the previous ones are on my profile page.**

**5) As per usual, here's my shout-out to the people who reviewed last chapter! Inubaki, Queeney, Hinamori-fukutaichou, LoveToHateYou, Altais, CallMeNicole, contrasting death, cherryblossom hime, kakashifangrl1012, whitehitsugaya, Forthwo, .I'm Just Reviewing. , BridgetAG, Rose of Wind, iceypeach, y'all are awesome!**

**I know I should personally reply to your comments, but I really don't have the time. The length of time it takes me to put out each chapter proves that point….**

**6) REVIEW! OR I'LL CUT THE EXPLOSION FROM THE NEXT CHAPER! OH NOES!!**

**(As always, constructive criticism is welcomed)**


	5. Stupid Stupid Stairs

**Guess what, guess what! This fic isn't dead! Le gasp!**

**I know I haven't updated in close three months, but I was terribly busy with school and work. I've barely had time at all to write…**

**And I know that I promised y'all an explosion in this chapter. Well, you'll just have to wait. This chapter was over 5,500 words in length and still going strong, so I had to make the tough decision to split it in half. And unfortunately, your explosion is on the other side of the divide. But fear not! I shall post the chapter's second half in just a few short weeks!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

--

Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Hinamori clutched limply at the banister as she stared up yet _another_ staircase.

_Kyaaaa! How many more stairs does this thing have? What was Hitsugaya-kun thinking, putting a recovering invalid on the highest floor! I mean, I'm really grateful that he offered me a place to stay in the first place, and I suppose the only open room was up there, but still…!_

Wiping the sheen of sweat from her forehead, she resumed her labored ascent.

_Come on, Momo, it's only a few (million) more flights! Come on, girl, you can do it! _

Unlike those of other divisions, the Tenth's main barracks had been built as a slim tower, nine stories of pure white stone that reached gracefully up though the azure sky. With its external face dotted with arched doorways and ringed with carved wooden walkways, the Tenth's barracks was generally regarded as one of the architectural wonders of Seireitei. Right then, though, the whole tower could have been gilt with gold and rubies for all Hinamori cared. The thing just had too many stairs.

Stupid, stupid stairs.

_Phew, where the heck has all the bubbly stamina I used to have gotten to? I should be jumping up this tower, or running up the side, or something! Note to self: begin intensive endurance training as soon as possible. Either that, or ask Hitsugaya-kun to install one of those lift-thingies from the Living World. What do the humans call them again? Alivators? Elavatories? Elevators? Elevators! That was it, elev—_

With a yelp of surprise, Hinamori tripped over the last step to sprawl on the walkway that encircled the tower's ninth and final floor, precisely in front of a pair of gigantic, sandaled feet. High above her, the owner of said sandals burst into loud and rather rude guffaws of laughter.

Hinamori scrambled to her feet, her face flaming. "I fail to see the humor in this situation, Tamura-kun" she said, trying to make her voice as frigid as possible.

The offending Shinigami, Tamura, seemed totally unaffected. "Oh, come on, you have to admit, that _was_ kinda funny," he said, grinning down at her from his immense height. "You was just walking up and then BOOM!" He slapped his hand on the railing for emphasis. "You fall smack on your face! Priceless! Makes me wish I had a camera!"

Hinamori normally would have shrugged off such a blatant display of rudeness, but the long and arduous climb had left her in a rather cranky mood. She gave a pointedly unimpressed sniff and powered up her very best Vice-Captain's Glare. Most people would be surprised to learn that the timid young woman had a Vice-Captain's Glare at all, but indeed she did. She _had_ had to exercise some authority over the Shinigami of her old division after all.

Hinamori was quite pleased to see that, even after all the years of disuse, her Glare still had power. Tamura began shifting uncomfortably back and forth the instant she narrowed her eyes at him, his ridiculous grin slipping from his large face as he anxiously plucked at his scruffy red beard.

Raising one eyebrow, Hinamori kicked the Glare up a few notches. "I think you should take me to my room now, Tamura-kun," she said, still in the same icy, no-nonsense tone she had used before.

"Ah, y-yes, your room, Hinamori-san. Uh…right this way!" Tamura turned and practically fled down the walkway. He was visibly sweating.

As she pattered unsteadily after him, Hinamori gave dissatisfied sniff. Here was another point she would have to take up with Hitsugaya-kun when she saw him again. This Shinigami he had sent to bring her to the Tenth's barracks had been distinctly unhelpful—he had bounded up the stairs as soon as they had reached the building, seemingly without a thought for the weakened state of his charge. Though Hinamori could peg a portion of his rudeness on his youth—despite being physically older than Hinamori herself, there was something in his reiatsu and bearing, as well as his casual mention of modern technology, that practically screamed "recently deceased" and "fresh out of the Academy"— his disrespect toward a superior officer was inexcusable. She sniffed again.

_Kids these days! No respect for authority!_

Authority…

The thought brought Hinamori up short. Come to think of it, not once since she had awoken from her coma had she been addressed as "Vice Captain." She'd been unconsciously assuming that she still held her old position in the Gotei Thirteen, but now it occurred to her that nine years was a very long time for a post as important as hers to stay vacant. It was almost certain that she had been replaced as the second-in-command of the Fifth Division.

So then, if she wasn't a vice captain anymore, than what was she? Hinamori glanced down at her clothes. Instead of the coarse black fabric of a shihakushou, the smooth folds of her sky blue kimono trailed softly behind her as she walked. There hadn't been any mention of her returning to active duty, either, or even still being a member of the Fifth.

Was she even a Shinigami anymore, then? Hinamori's heart froze at the thought. For more than the past forty odd years, _Shinigami_ had been what she defined herself as being; her identity as a Shinigami had dictated her the way she had lived, had determined her values, had _been_ the very purpose of her existence in the afterlife. The idea of no longer being _Shinigami_ was inconceivable. Unthinkable. Horrifying. Not being Shinigami would be like losing her name, her self, her soul, her—

"Ah, Hin-Hinamori-s-san? We're here…"

With Tamura's quavering words, Hinamori was abruptly pulled back to reality. Shaking her head to clear her whirling thoughts, she tottered past the anxiously towering form of her guide and into her new living quarters.

And blinked.

Ever since she had been told she'd be boarding in one of the Division's private rooms, she had been envisioning the tiny, cell-like spaces grudgingly given to those seated members of the Fifth who thought themselves too good to bunk with the common soldiery. Instead, what she now saw was different enough from her initial vision to replace the sick dread writhing inside her with a feeling of genuine, pleasant surprise.

Golden afternoon sunlight poured through the open rice-paper door, flowing in amber waves across the polished wooden floor and refracting, prism-like, on the glass vase on the small dressing table on the far wall. The room was open, airy, surprisingly spacious, and had a warm, comfortable feel despite the plain white walls and lack of décor. A simple folding screen rested against one side wall. A series of bare shelves hung from wooden pegs on the other. A writing table was neatly tucked away one corner, a new tallow candle and a pot of ink perched on its slightly-worn surface. And in the opposite corner sat the bag of personal possessions Hinamori had packed just that morning, waiting patiently, if a little forlornly, to be emptied of its meager contents.

"S-so? How is it? D-do you like it? Is it alright?"

Hinamori turned to dazedly stare up at Tamura. His huge face, nearly level with the top of the doorframe, wore an expression that suggested that he might have a nervous breakdown if she found the room not to her liking. Hinamori began feeling a little guilty that she had taken out her irritation on him earlier—he was only a kid after all.

She pushed the warmest smile she could muster onto her face. "Ah, yes, it's lovely Tamura-kun! " she chirruped. "It's very pretty and bright and…er, clean and…" Her brain, frazzled by her earlier worrying, spluttered and ran dry of words. What she had said seemed enough, though. Tamura looked definitely happier.

"You really think so? Really?" He rubbed one gigantic hand against the back of his head. "It's not that great—I mean, I only finished setting it up and cleaning it up and everything just a few minutes ago. Captain said he'd turn me into a popsicle if I didn't get it all done before you got here, so I had to run up here and finish after I fetched you from the hospital—I hope you didn't mind. And…Oh yeah!" He suddenly dropped into a stiff, awkward bow. "I'm honored that you find your new accommodations acceptable, Hinamori-san."

_Ah. So _that's_ where he ran off to this morning. Kid needs to set his priorities straight._

Hinamori matched his bow with one of her own. "And I thank you for preparing it for me, Tamura-kun. I am most grateful." She straightened back up and peered back through the door of her new room. Within, dust motes danced in the streaming sunlight. It was quite beautiful, really. And it felt…peaceful. Familiar.

_You know, it reminds me of my old quarters back at the Fifth. It's a little bigger, and the walls of my old room never slanted inwards like that, but they're definitely similar._

"I guess the Vice-Captain's quarters are the same, then, no matter where you go. Neh, Hinamori-san?"

Hinamori nearly had a heart attack at Tamura's mind-reading abilities until she realized she must have spoken her thought aloud. It was only then that his words finally struck her.

"Wait just a minute—the _Vice-Captain's_ quarters?"

It was Tamura's turn to blink in surprise. "You mean Captain Hitsugaya didn't tell you? This is the room traditionally used by the Division's vice-captain. It's been empty for a while, but—"

"'Been empty?' What ever happened to Matsumoto-san?" Hinamori never had been that close of friends with the older blonde woman, but the thought of something terrible happening to the bright, bubbly, unflappable Shinigami was just…

But Hinamori's gigantic guide just cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Matsu..moto? Matsumoto…" He muttered. "Oh, you mean _her!_ Naw, she's been gone a long time. Transferred into the Ninth, I think. It was before I had even enrolled at the Shinigami Academy, so I've never really met her."

"So the room's been empty that long?"

"What? Oh, no, heck no! Up till just three weeks ago, this is where Vice-Captain Takezoe was living." Tamura seemed to droop slightly, like a wilting oak tree. He sighed. "I already miss him, now that he ain't here no more."

Hinamori's eyes widened. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry! I didn't know…" In certain Shinigami divisions, particularly the Eleventh, saying that someone 'ain't here no more' was a nonchalant euphemism for 'eaten by a Hollow.'

Tamura let out a low bark of a laugh. "No, it's nothing like that. Takezoe-san fell in love with some ninja-bitch chick from the Second Division. Sakura-chan's awful scary, so we always called her his 'pet Hollow' and it's been a running joke in the Division that she's eating his soul. He must have really loved her, though, 'cause they got married and he transferred up to be with her." He scowled. "Guy could have at least given us some warning he was leaving. He still owes me money from when we last went drinking."

"Hnnn," was Hinamori's ambiguous agreement. She vaguely remembered Takezoe Kokichiro from back before, when he had been Hitsugaya's seventh seat. He'd struck her as a solid, dependable fellow, so the idea of him running off with one of the fierce, notoriously short-tempered women of the Second Division (the female Shinigami she was picturing, due to her name, sported Yachiru-pink hair) seemed absolutely bizarre.

_I guess people really do change. Have changed._

A wisp of the soft, sad regret that she'd felt in the hospital garden drifted in the air around her. _Everything_ was different. She hadn't even recognized half the faces of the Shinigami she had passed with Tamura on the way to the Tenth's compound. _She_ was different. The fact that she was wearing blue instead of black and standing before the door of a room given to her, not because she had joined the Division, but out of charity—_charity!—_proved that the world she'd been a part of had faded away. Hinamori found herself silently wishing for that world back.

**SHPLACKKK!**

Startled out of her thoughts, Hinamori whipped around. The source of the sound turned out to be Tamura, who had clapped one of his massive hands to his forehead, his eyes, each the size of a horse's, wide open in horror.

"I-is there something wrong?" Hinamori queried. Her guide looked as though he'd seen a ghos—well, something scary, at least.

"Oh my gawd, I'm so gonna be a popsicle…" he moaned. Then, without any warning, he wheeled round, dashed to the other side of the walkway, and, grasping the railing…flung himself over the edge.

For a stunned moment, Hinamori could only stare in shock at the empty expanse of blue sky that Tamura had previously occupied. Then, horrified, she stumbled over to the railing herself, looking over just in time to see, far below, the gigantic Shinigami roll to his equally gigantic feet and race out of the courtyard as if pursued by the hounds of hell—or the wrath of his ice-wielding, white-haired Captain.

_That settles it. I'm really going to have to talk to Hitsugaya-kun about that kid._

_--_

A breath of spring breeze whispered through the highest floor of the tower, ruffling Hinamori's hair and puffing her kimono sleeves out like painted sails. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, she found herself shivering. Without another soul around, the long stretch of walkway now seemed deathly silent. It felt as though the rest of the world had dropped away, leaving only her, the deserted building, the cloudless sky, and, directly before her, the gaping, empty doorway that led to her new quarters.

That led to her new life?

_Stop that!_ Hinamori mentally chided herself. She was starting to make too much of this whole thing. If only Hitsugaya-kun could see her now—turning a simple door into a symbol! He'd, of course, scoff—and perhaps she'd even get an exasperated snort and an eyebrow twitch. Or, at least, she _should_. If he was anything like what he used to be, that is. From what she had observed from his earlier behavior, the new, older version of her childhood friend seemed inclined to act a little strange, a little _off_, around her, particularly if he wasn't paying attention.

And she found this alteration in his personality, this change, deeply unsettling.

More than that…it was just _wrong_.

Hinamori latched onto the edge of the door, squeezing it so tightly that the fragile frame creaked, threatening to splinter. Why did the idea things being different, especially of Hitsugaya-kun being different, bother her so much? She was over a hundred years old, thankyouverymuch. She had seen the town in the Living World where she had been born transform from an isolated fishing village to a sprawling city of steel-and-glass skyscrapers and Western fast-food joints. She had lived in Rukongai, attended the Shinigami Academy, and joined the Gotei Thirteen. She had made friends, seen those friends die at the claws of ravening Hollows, and then had to make new ones. Her life had hardly been constant. And it wasn't like Hitsugaya-kun had exactly stayed the same either. Why, the young, white-cloaked Captain from nine years ago was as different from the watermelon-scarfing boy from Rukongai as his current, older self was from his nine-years-ago version. Things changed. People changed. That was the way the world was.

_Alright, here's what you're going to do._ Hinamori told herself. _You're going to step across that threshold. And then you're going to take whatever your new life throws at you. Just because everything's not like how you remember it being is no excuse to _

_wallow in the past and be miserable. You're going to accept what comes, you're going to be pleasant to everyone around you, you're going to be _**happy**_. It doesn't matter that the people around you are different, it doesn't matter that you probably aren't a Shinigami anymore, and it doesn't matter that Hitsugaya-kun has decided to turn into a giant overnight and start smiling at you. This is your life. You should make the best of it._

Then, before she could lose her nerve, Hinamori threw herself over the threshold and into her new world.

--

_Well, that was easier than I thought…If only it hadn't hurt so much…_

Hinamori had only remembered halfway through her leap that her muscles hadn't altogether recovered from their disuse during her coma. Unfortunately, her sudden epiphany hadn't been enough to save her from crashing to the floor after her legs had buckled upon landing.

Luckily, though, she seemed not to have injured anything besides her pride.

Sighing, she sat up and brushed the dust from her kimono, a little glad that nobody was around to see her tumble. She really did need to get back in shape. Or at least learn to walk and move around properly.

_So, now what?_

Hinamori glanced around the empty room, again taking in the bare walls and lack of personal furnishings. Well, since she was going to be living here, she might as well get the room set up, right? Unsteadily, she climbed to her feet and made her way over to her bag, which Tamura had oh-so-considerately dumped in the farthest corner.

Kneeling down, she opened the pack and began rummaging around inside, pulling out items and setting them down next to her as she went. After just a short time, she had an assortment of brightly-colored clothes and various sundries stacked in neat piles on the floor beside her. Hinamori's own possessions had been put into storage at some point during her coma, but due to a paperwork mixup, the particular warehouse in which they had been placed was still unknown. Thankfully, though, a few of the female members of the Fourth had lent her enough of their toiletries and off-duty kimonos to keep her dressed and hygienic until her own could be unearthed.

Hinamori's searching fingers abruptly encountered something hard and flat lurking beneath a small pouch full of combs. Confused, she pulled the strange item out, her eyes widening as she saw what was in her hand.

_How did this get in here?_

Somehow, the book of Western fairy tales that she had been reading before her reunion with Hitsugaya-kun had wound up in her bag. She hadn't put it there herself; until that very moment, she hadn't even wondered if it had ever made it back from the garden bench where she had left it. Perhaps one of the Fourth's healers had picked it up and slipped it in…?

As she held the book in her hands, Hinamori gradually became aware an odd feeling in her fingers—a barely-perceptible prickling or tingling wherever she touched the battered green cover. Surprised, she shut her eyes, focusing on the sensation. It… it felt almost like when you were picking up the reiatsu of someone very far away. Or when you touched someone's zanpakuto, and instantly could tell who it belonged to…

Wait just minute. Was she sensing someone's reiatsu _imprint_?

Hinamori had heard stories of Shinigami who could correctly identify the last person to touch an object, or who could or walk into a room and name the person who had just walked out, just from the traces of reiatsu that had been left behind. Though Hinamori herself was better at sensing reiatsu than most, she had never been sensitive enough to pick up imprints. Well, until now, it would seem.

Eagerly, she clutched the book to her chest, concentrating on the prickling with all her might. Perhaps, if she could develop this ability and learn to tell an individual's reiatsu from their imprint, she could be of some use to Seireitei, even if she couldn't be a Shinigami anymore. She had heard that the Secret Advance Corps was always seeking sensitives to serve as trackers, and she knew that the Ninth Division employed a few in the forensics unit of their Investigative Sq—

Hinamori's gasped, her eyes flying open as the book of fairy tales dropped from her nerveless fingers, landing with a loud clunk on the wooden floor. The image had flashed out of nowhere. One moment there had been only the dark inside of her eyelids. The next…

White hair. A long Captain's haori. Emerald eyes.

Broad, sword-callused hands idly turning the yellowed pages of a book.

His voice, low and soft, reading aloud in a measured, even cadence.

It was as though he had been standing right next to her. She had even been able to smell him, a sharp, biting scent, cold, like wintergreen…

Hinamori suddenly realized she had spent the last minute and a half staring dumbly into space. Shaking her head to get the get the wooly feeling out, she carefully picked the abused book off the floor. As she touched it, the prickling of the imprinted reiatsu spread through her hands once again, though it felt a little duller, a little weaker, this time.

That…that vision had been unexpectedly vivid. Shockingly vivid. She had thought that she might see _something_, but that had been so…real.

_Like I could have touched him, had I reached out…_

For the second time that day, Hinamori found herself shivering in the bright afternoon sunlight. The pure intensity of her vision had been more than a little disturbing…and sort of…wrong, on some level. But if she wanted to earn her keep, she'd need to have an ability that made her useful to the Shinigami around her. And people who could sense reiatsu imprints were extraordinarily rare and highly valuable.

--

**Author's note, 6/20/08**

**1) Yeah, that was a weird place to split the chappie, but there was nowhere else…And I'm sorry, fluff-lovers, for the Hinamori-centric chapter. Don't worry, the romance will come in due time…in due time…**

**2) Like Ogido, ****Takezoe Kokichiro is another one of those terribly obscure Bleach characters. He's got about six lines in chapter 129. Interestingly enough, he's the Shinigami who tells Hitsugaya that Renji, Kira, and Hinamori have all broken out of prison. I really didn't know of any members of the Tenth Division other than him, so I had to make poor Tamura up. I still don't have a "first" name for him yet, XD . Suggestions, anyone?**

**3) And here's my much delayed shout-out to my reviewers from last chapter! Coup du Coeur, Inubaki, Byakuyaluv88, iceypeach, Syngamy, Prodigy Keyblade Wielder, shirochanxmomo1220, whitehitsugaya, BridgetAG, Brindles, Princess Aiyana, Okibimaru, CallMeNicole, Rose of Wind, sakurauchiha0inonara, Altais, kakashifangrl1012, Nagasasu, idyslexiaheart, Devatron2000, hey peoples, momo21, Himiko Areess, random eggy, and Chaos Dragon, your responses are what keeps me writing!**

**4) Cough. As usual, my illustration for this chapter is linked on my profile page. I put a bit more effort into it than usual, so go look! Cough.**

**5) So, does anyone actually read down this far? Is anyone out there still reading my fanfic? If so, I'd love to hear from you! Reviewing is your friend! And your comments might just inspire me to write faster…**


	6. Walking Stick

**Well, this "second half of Chapter Five" seems to have mutated into a monster while I wasn't looking. Nine thousand words…Ergh.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter. And the explosion. Finally.**

--

The passage of a half-hour found Hinamori sitting in the center of a disordered pool of rumpled clothes and scattered toiletries. She'd gone through everything she had taken out of her bag, concentrating hard on each and every item. Though she had managed to think herself into a pounding headache, she hadn't yet managed to pick up a single imprint from any of the objects' previous owners. Her fingers hadn't even prickled once.

In a fit of irritation, Hinamori tossed down the latest item she had tested (a lurid yellow obi) and hauled herself to her feet. She began to angrily pace around the room, occasionally shooting dirty looks at the book of fairy tales, which she had moved onto one of the shelves on the far wall. She knew if she were to run a finger down its spine, a ghost of that vision of Hitsugaya-kun would flash across her mind's eye—undeniable proof that she hadn't just imagined sensing his imprint.

But _why_ couldn't she pick up reiatsu imprints on anything else? What made that book so special?

Hinamori's frustrated energy suddenly exhausted itself and she sank heavily to the floor, curling up her legs so that her forehead rested against her knees. To tell the truth, she couldn't decide if she felt frustrated towards her block or relieved. On one hand, if she were to become one of Seireitei's few reiatsu sensitives, she'd have a legitimate place in the world she considered her home. She wouldn't be a useless, broken being, dependant on old friendships and charity to keep her among the Shinigami. It wasn't like she was worried that Hitsugaya would throw her out into the cold—it was more like she couldn't stand the idea of his pity being the only thing that kept her from it.

But then, on the other hand…

She wrapped her arms around her shins, hugging herself tightly. On the other hand, she didn't want to _see_ those visions that might or might not appear if she managed to pick up another imprint. She'd gone back and tested the book several times, checking to see if there was some trick to picking up the imprints. Each time she'd checked, the image of Hitsugaya-kun had swum before her eyes, and each time, the bile had risen in her throat. She didn't object to what she actually _saw_; no, it was the idea of an external force putting pictures in her head that made her stomach churn. Each time she had seen the vision, it felt like her mind had been violated. It was disgusting. Horrifying. Sickening. And, each time she had tried, the feeling had only gotten worse.

Hinamori scrubbed a hand across her face. When she pulled it away, she was surprised to find it wet with tears.

She was crying?

Crying because something she was trying to do, that she _needed_ to do was too hard and too upsetting? There was no way she was that pathetic! A flame of anger boiling up inside her, she clenched her tear-streaked hand into a fist.

_That does it! I'm going to learn how to properly pick up reiatsu imprints, even if it kills me...dang it! _

Now sufficiently determined, Hinamori clumsily leapt to her feet, the yellow obi she had thrown away earlier clutched tight in her fist. She slammed her eyes shut, concentrating with all her might, trying to pick up the tell-tale prickles of—

**CRASH!**

The sound of the door being violently thrown open behind her blasted Hinamori back to Soul Society. She let out a shriek of surprise, her eyes flying open as she leapt high into the air. Unfortunately, her legs responded the same way as they had after her last jump; upon her landing, they simply surrendered to the forces of gravity, dumping her flat on her back.

Staring at the huge, grinning, upside-down version of Tamura's face, Hinamori dazedly wondered how he came to have such perfect timing. That had to be the third time he had startled her out of her own head.

Tamura squeezed his way through the doorframe "Hiya, Hinamori-san! I'm back!" he chirped. "And looky looky!" He held out a long, cloth-wrapped package. "I brought you something!" Suddenly, he seemed to notice Hinamori's supine position and her scattered belongings. He blinked confusedly. "Am I interrupting something…?"

"N-nothing at all, Tamura-kun," Hinamori wheezed, rolling over and sitting up. "Next time, though, could you please knock or something before coming in?"

The gigantic Shinigami gave her a puzzled look. "But Vice-Captain Takezoe said I never needed to knock before I came in…"

Hinamori goggled at him. Honestly, did the boy have any sense of decorum at all? Or any brains?

She tried to be polite. "Begging your pardon, but I'm not Vice-Captain Takezoe."

His face remained blank with incomprehension.

"I also happen to be a _girl_, Tamura-kun," Hinamori added, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

He finally got it. His face turned a peculiar shade of pink, and he muttered a word that sounded remarkably like "Oh."

"So, Tamura-kun," Hinamori said briskly, breaking the awkward silence. "You said you had something for me…?"

"Ah…yes, yes I d-did," He squeaked, his face still rosy. He held out the wrapped parcel. "H-here. Captain told me to give this to you, but I forgot to pick it up this morning. So I had to run back and get it. I-I hope you don't mind, Hinamori-san…"

Hinamori assured him that it was no problem at all, then picked herself off the ground and threaded her way across the messy floor to the door. At Tamura's nod, she took the parcel from his hand.

_Oof. This thing is really heavy!_

Carefully, she unwrapped the mysterious object, pulling the cloth back to reveal—

"A walking stick?"

Tamura blinked down at her. "I-I guess you could you could use it that way," he said slowly.

Hinamori hefted the long piece of wood. It was a touch heavy for a walking stick, and kind of thick, but hey, it was the thought that counted. She smiled up at her former guide. "Thank you very much bringing it to me, Tamura-kun. Oh, and if you see Captain Hitsugaya before I do, could you thank him very much for sending it to me?"

"Sure, I'd be glad to!" The Shinigami grinned down at her. "So, er, now that I'm here, is there anything you'd like me to help you with?" he asked, his huge eyes now taking in the expanse of strewn-about belongings with a curious expression.

"Erm, well, I guess we could start with…" Hinamori trailed off. "Actually…Er, not that I don't appreciate your to help and all, Tamura-kun, but I really think I'd like to take a walk instead."

Now that she thought about it, she really, really, felt like getting some fresh air. And she needed to break in her new stick, too. And if she was outside, there wouldn't be any chance of her accidentally picking up a reiatsu imprint off one of the objects in her room and having another one of those visions…

"Oh. A walk's alright, I guess." The tall Shinigami cocked his head to the side, as if a sudden thought had just struck him. "Hey, Hinamori san…would you like some help down from the tower, then? You are kind of sick, still, right?"

Hinamori gaped at him.

_Well, thank you for finally noticing. Though I wish you had done so this morning, before I had to practically drag myself up nine stories…_

She forced herself to take a deep breath and relax. He was just a kid, after all. A product of the modern world. And everyone knew that modern children were totally self-centered and lacked any kind of respect for their elders or tradition. He couldn't help the way he'd been brought up. If anything, she should blame his parents…

So, instead of venting at him, Hinamori slapped the brightest smile she could dredge up across her face. "I thank you for your kindness, Tamura-kun," she said. "I would be most honored to accept any form assistance from you." She gave a small bow.

"Aww, it's no problem really, Hinamori-san," Tamura replied, beaming down at her. "I mean, you seem like a nice girl and all, so I'm just happy to help you out, you know?" He then held out his arm to her, like a Western gentleman might have done a century past. Hinamori had only seen the gesture before in the chick-flicks the Shinigami Women's Association occasionally went to watch in the Living World, and it did impress her a little.

_Perhaps he's not such a bad kid after all. Not the sharpest sword in the armory, for sure, but not a bad kid…_

She had to stretch to reach to reach his arm, but with him holding up on one side and her walking stick on the other, her steps were noticeably steadier. Carefully, they maneuvered out though the door (Tamura had to duck) and set off down the outside walkway.

Then something suddenly came to Hinamori's attention. "Erm, Tamura-kun, I think the stairs are the other way…"

He smirked slightly. "Yeah, they are. But we're taking a faster way down."

"A faster way?" Hinamori stared up at him in surprise. "Wait a minute…don't tell me this tower has an elevator!"

"An elevator? Don't make me laugh. _We're_ taking the Tamura Express. It's a dozen times faster than any stinking elevator." The Shinigami then grinned, baring his huge white teeth in a slightly unnerving way.

"'Tamura Express'? What do you mean b—Reishei and rabbits, you can't mean what I think you're saying! Don't you even think ab—gyaaahhmmmpth!!"

A mouthful of black shihakushou choked off the remainder of Hinamori's protest. Tamura had swung her, stick and all, up over his massive shoulder, and was holding her there as easily as one might hold a child.

The gigantic Shinigami then set one of his boat-like feet casually on the walkway railing. Hinamori frantically thrashed in his viselike grip, but, for all her efforts, wasn't able to extricate herself in the slightest.

"Mmphgrmpth! Ethmgrrrphff!" She shouted into his shoulder, trying, with no avail, to at least free her mouth.

"Aww, come on, Hinamori-saaan, don't be such a stick in the mud! This'll be fun!" Tamura half-sang as he stepped all the way onto the railing, somehow balancing effortlessly on the narrow strip of wood. Then, with surprising grace, he abruptly spun around so that, instead of the outside of the tower, Hinamori was facing out towards the crystal-clear blue sky.

She barely had time to register the magnificent view tower's highest floor afforded before Tamura deliberately fell backwards off the railing.

"GYAMMPHTG—YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

Hinamori let out a piercing scream as the ground rushed upwards toward her, her every muscle stiff with terror. This was it. She was going to die. She was going to be squashed flat as a pancake in the middle of the Tenth's courtyard. They'd have to scrape her off the flagstones with a spatula. Why, oh, why, hadn't she used her lovely new walking stick to bash Tamura's elephantine kneecaps in when she had chance? Because of him and his stupid 'Express,' she'd never see another fireworks festival 

again. She'd never see the cherry blossoms dancing in the spring wind breeze, or see the sun's first rays light up a sleeping Seireitei on a chilly December morning.

_I'll never see Hitsugaya-kun's smile again._

**BLAMB!**

There was a confusing blur of blue sky and gray flagstones and the white exterior stone of the tower, and suddenly Hinamori found herself swaying with her own two feet on solid ground, Tamura's huge hands holding her up by the shoulders.

His gigantic face, uncomfortably close to her own, broke into another broad grin. "Wasn't that fun Hinamori-san? Much better than walking or an elevator, riiiight?" he practically sang. Sincerity oozed from his every pore.

"I—wa—ha…" Hinamori could only stutter incoherently. Her brain was still somewhere on the seventh floor.

"You see," continued Tamura, apparently oblivious to his companion's condition, "the trick is to kick off from one of the lowest floor and flip over, right before you smash into the ground. That way you get the rush of falling without the broken bones of the landing."

"Ta-tamura—"

"And there are, of course, all sorts of things you can do on the way down that make it even more fun! Spins and flips and one-eighty turns and two-sixty kickflips from each floor and—" His eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey, Hinamori-san, you wanna come up and help me with something I've been working on? I call it the 'Super-Special-Awesome Tamura Boomerang Drillbit Armadillo Flipkick!' You see, it's for the Division's doubles competition in June, and you're just about the same weight as my partner so I was thinking that—"

But Hinamori's brain had finally caught up with her body. She slammed the butt-end of her stick loudly down on the flagstones. "_No_!" she shouted.

Tamura blinked down at her stupidly. "Huh?"

"Th-thank you, but I would much rather not jump off any more towers, Tamura-kun."

The huge Shinigami looked absolutely bewildered at that. "But…why? Tower diving's the best thing in the world! Well, after dicing up Hollows, of course…"

Hinamori was clenching her walking stick so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She was trying very hard not to start raging at the young man. Especially since she wasn't sure if she was angry because he had almost killed her for the sake of an adrenaline rush or because he was being so unbelievably dense.

She took a deep breath.

"Well, you see, Tamura-kun," she lied in as pleasant a voice as she could manage, "I need to—um— go find someone and talk to….her. And I want to be back by sunset, and I don't think I can walk very fast right now. So I really think I should leave right now and all…"

But that annoying happy-go-lucky look was plastered across his face again. "Ohhh, I see! Well, don't worry, Hinamori-san! I can carry you to see your friend right after we practice! Come on, it'll be fun!"

Something snapped.

His hand was reaching for her, presumably to pull her back up the stairs. Hinamori swung her stick as hard as she could at it, the thick wood colliding with the outside of his wrist with a resounding CRACK. There was a peculiar shower of pinkish-red sparks when she hit him, but Hinamori was too angry to take any real notice.

"I _said_ I do not want to go Tower jumping or diving or _anything_ anymore, Tamura-kun!" she snarled through clenched teeth.

His eyes were wide with shock as he cradled his injured wrist to his chest. "But, Hinamori-san—" he began.

"I said _no_, Tamura Keita of the Tenth Division! And no means _no_!" And with that, she blasted him with the most powerful Vice Captain's Glare she had ever summoned.

_My lack of authority be danged! He needs this!_

Hinamori threw everything into the Glare, using every trick she knew to up its intensity. The slight clenching of the teeth that was favored by Vice-Captain Iba. The slight, unequal narrowing-of-the-eyes technique that Isane had developed. The aggressive, half-step forward that Kira, of all people, had discovered was so effective. Hinamori even threw in the "involuntary" eyebrow twitch that she had seen Shiba Kaien using decades ago.

Tamura turned whiter than a sheet. Whiter than snow. Whiter than a Hollow's mask that had just been washed with a gallon of bleach. His whole frame was trembling like a tree in a high gale, and his eyes were as saucers, the whites showing in a thick ring around his irises. His mouth opened and shut wordlessly.

Hinamori took another half-step forward. "Go," she hissed.

Tamura needed no urging. Almost before the word had fallen from her lips, he had turned and fled courtyard at a dead run, the black sleeves of his shihakushou streaming out behind him.

Hinamori stared at his retreating back with some surprise. She'd meant to throw him off balance a little with her glare, enough to perhaps encourage him to listen to her and actually leave her alone. She hadn't meant to terrify him like that. To the best of her knowledge, she hadn't ever terrified _anyone_ like that. Was she really that scary? Maybe he was just a little sensitive…

Absently rubbing her throbbing temples (her glaring had only built on her headache from earlier), she sighed. Tamura hadn't been that bad a kid, really. A little annoying and persistent, but certainly not to a degree that would warrant her chasing him off like that or hitting him. She really was going to have to find him and apologize. It would have to be much later, though. There was simply no way she could catch up to him now with the way her legs were.

Luckily, she knew where to look. They were living in the same building now, after all.

Hinamori cast a glance at the sky. From the position of the sun, she guessed she only had a few hours left before sunset. If she wanted to walk any distance before it became too dark to see, she'd need to leave soon.

--

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The end of Hinamori's walking stick clicked rhythmically against the flagstones as she walked down one of Seiretei's broad avenues, the late-afternoon sunlight bathing her with warmth. Taking a walk now seemed like the best idea she'd had since she had awoken from her coma. She could feel her practically feel her mood improving with each step.

She felt alive, she felt free!

Unconsciously, she began humming an old marching song as she drank in her surroundings. The layout of Seireitei hadn't changed much in thousands of years, and the sight of its familiar buildings and avenues was comforting and warmed her heart like the sunlight on her face. The silvery spike of Tower of Penitence glittered in the far distance, as if it was winking at her.

A group of Shinigami sauntered by on the opposite side of the street, chattering amongst themselves as they travelled past. When she'd last walked these streets, everyone's footsteps seemed to carry a kind of nervous urgency in the face of the impending war. Now, the atmosphere felt…calm. Relaxed. It reminded her much of the peaceful decades that had followed her elevation to vice-captaincy, when the pace of life had been slower and the world had been calmer.

She held out the arm that was not occupied with maneuvering her walking stick and shook back her sleeve so that the sun could touch more of her skin. She felt almost like singing…well, felt like caterwauling, that is. She'd been told on numerous occasions that her singing voice frequently shattered windowpanes and induced bleeding from the eardrums. But what did it matter, on a day like this? The day was warm, spring was in the air, and she felt like she'd finally come home.

Home.

She'd finally come home.

Hinamori rounded a corner, and suddenly found herself walking along the high perimeter wall of the Ninth Division's compound. A short way ahead, she could see the gates that led into the division's courtyard. The open and unguarded gates.

She smiled to herself. Nine years ago, with tensions running high after the betrayal of three of Soul Society's captains, that entryway would have had a watch of at least six Shinigami set on it. Hinamori, as unthreatening-looking as she currently was, probably would have had an armed escort with her by now to ensure she didn't try to scale the walls. How things changed. For the better, this time, though.

As she neared the gates, an idea slowly took shape in her mind. Tamura had mentioned that Matsumoto-san had transferred into the Ninth. Since Hinamori was already here, shouldn't she pay a visit to her fellow, well, make that _ex_-fellow, Vice Captain? Perhaps the older woman could help her catch up on what had happened while she was out of it, or maybe tell her what had happened to their shared friends. If anything, it would be nice just to see a familiar face…

Hinamori hesitated a moment on the compound threshold. Even though the heavy doors were wide open, was it really proper to waltz in uninvited? Divisional headquarters were generally considered private places, and for as long as she could remember, entry into one required an invitation from a relevant division member. The unguarded gates would seem to indicate that the practice had been abandoned, but since the courtyard behind them was empty, there wasn't anyone could ask.

As if on cue, a lone Shinigami crossed into her field of vision, his sleeveless uniform marking him as a member of the Ninth.

Hinamori started forward. "Um, excuse me…!" she called out.

The Shinigami turned, and Hinamori almost regretted her shout. You could a take a soul out of Rukongai, but you couldn't take Rukongai out of a soul, and every common soul harbored a slight prejudice against the noble classes. Herself included, as much as she had tried to overcome it over the years. And this Shinigami, with his expensive, striped-silk obi, slicked back hair, and ridiculous painted fingernails, simply screamed "noble" from every angle.

Hinamori began again, but it seemed as though her tongue had tied itself in knots at the noble's appearance. "Um, pardon me, but I was just wondering if it's alright—well actually, I wanted to know if Vice Captain Matsu—Wait, but first, are visitors allowed right n—"

"Either state your business, or leave, servant girl," the Shinigami said flatly, his cold eyes taking in her second-hand kimono with disdain. "My time is valuable."

"I-I'm no servant girl!" Hinamori protested, her face flaming. "I'm—"

She stopped dead. What was she now? Friend and guest of one Captain Hitsugaya Toshiro, but she didn't think that would impress him very much. About as much as 'ex-Shinigami,' probably.

She sighed. "I'm looking for Vice Captain Matsumoto. Is she in?"

The corners of the young man's lips twitched downward. "She is not. The Vice-Captain left some hours ago in the company of Vice-Captain Kira."

"Oh." That threw a wrench into her plans. "Well, when she comes back, can you tell her I stopped by?"

"And what name shall I give to our honored Vice-Captain?"

Hinamori blinked. She'd been a high-ranking officer in the Gotei Thirteen for decades, known to nearly all the Shinigami in Seireitei by name and sight. It felt strange to be a 'nobody' again.

"Hinamori. My name's Hinamori Momo," she told him.

The Ninth Division Shinigami nodded. "Now, Hinamori-san, do you have any more business with the Ninth Division?"

"I don't think so…"

"Then kindly remove yourself from the premises. You are blocking the gates."

She stared at him for a moment. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and marched out of the doorway and down the avenue.

_What an incredibly rude, arrogant, little…noble! And people wonder where all these stereotypes come from. Sheesh, if they just took those sticks out of—_

Preoccupied as she was with thoughts of the conduct of the higher classes, Hinamori failed to notice the raised edge of a flagstone that lay directly in her path. Consequently, upon reaching it, she snagged the edge of one of her slightly-too-large sandals on it and promptly fell flat on her face.

"Owwww…" she muttered as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Quickly checking herself for damage, she discovered with some annoyance that she had skinned her elbow.

Great. Now, on top of being too weak to walk up a set of stairs and too clumsy to walk across a level surface, she now had aggravatingly mild injury to deal with. And if Hitsugaya-kun saw it, he'd call her klutzy again, even though it wasn't her fault. Now thoroughly irritated, Hinamori reached out for her walking stick so she could get up.

It wasn't there.

Alarmed, Hinamori turned her head from side to side, searching for her precious walking aid. Finally she spotted her stick some distance behind her, just outside the Ninth Division's gates. It must have bounced or rolled there during her fall, but it was a tad surprising that she hadn't heard it clattering along the flagstones.

_Stupid stick. Trying to run away from me, are you?_

Hinamori crawled her way over the flagstones to her stick and stretched out her hand, but just before her fingers closed over the polished wood, an irritatingly nasal voice floated through the open doors of the compound.

"Kuwaaaaaaashima-kuuuun, I'm baaaack," it sang.

"You certainly took your time fetching your supper, Yasuda," a low, growling voice replied.

At the sound of the second voice, Hinamori froze. It had belonged to the Shinigami she'd encountered just minutes before, and he sounded as though he was still just inside the gates on the courtyard side. Carefully, she lifted up her stick, planted one end on the flagstones, and began silently pulling herself to her feet. She'd much rather not have the noble poke his head out the door at some suspicious noise and see her in such an awkward position on the ground. With the way she'd flounced out earlier, it would be more than a little embarrassing.

The newly-arrived Shinigami, identified by the other as Yasuda, spoke again, though he sounded a bit less exuberant this time. "It wasn't _that_ long, Kuwashima-kun. And besides, it was the first time in a month they were serving ganmodoki"

"Your responsibility should be to your post first and your stomach last," the noble, Kuwashima, growled. "Even if there was ganmodoki."

Hinamori, who by this point had managed to pull herself halfway up, suddenly felt a sharp tug on her clothes when she tried to straighten her legs. Looking down, she saw that a few trailing threads from her kimono hem had become tangled in one of her sandals. She knelt again, lying down her walking stick as she did so, and tried to free herself.

"So did any-hin' happen while I wa' out?" Yasuda asked, sounding like he was speaking around a mouthful of food. There was a noisy swallow. "Did I miss any excitement? Did anyone stop by?"

"Does anything happen ever around here? The only thing that came through the doors was some peasant girl looking for the Vice Captain."

The snagging threads snapped. Hinamori shot an angry glance towards the courtyard gate, even though she knew Kuwashima couldn't see her. She was a "peasant girl" now? Well, _he_ was just a judgmental, presumptuous, impolite, bigoted noble. Humph.

"Some peasant girl, eh? Was she cute? Did'ja get her name?"

"Of course I got her name, you fool. I wouldn't be fulfilling my duties as a gatekeeper if I failed to do so."

"So?" Yasuda's chopsticks clacked against his bowl as he presumably took another bite of his dinner.

"So what?" Kuwashima sounded rather annoyed.

"So wha' wazzer name? Don' tell me 'ou've forgotten it alrea'y?"

Hinamori finally succeeded in hauling herself to her feet, her walking stick firmly in her hand where it belonged. After a quick check to make sure there weren't any more tripping hazards lurking about, she lifted her foot, preparing to take her first step and finally make her way out of there.

"Of course I haven't. It was just a plain commoner's name, after all. 'Hinamori Momo,' I believe it was."

There was a pause. Then Yasuda's bowl clattered loudly against the flagstones of the courtyard as he erupted into a storm of coughing. "Hinamori…Momo?! He choked out. "_Vice-Captain_ Hinamori Momo?!"

Hinamori froze in mid-step.

"I was not aware that she was a Vice-Captain," Kuwashima said stiffly.

"Eh? No, she's not a Vice-Captain. 'Least not these days, anyway. But she was back during the Winter War, back before you were recruited. Vice-Captain of the Fifth, I think she was."

"I do not remember ever hearing of any such pers—wait, do mean that Vice-captain who was captured by…"

"Yeah, _that_ Vice-Captain."

Outside the gates, still frozen with one foot off the ground, Hinamori was torn. Eavesdropping on private conversations wasn't exactly the politest thing to be doing, and if she were to be discovered loitering like this in front of the doors…well, that would be embarrassing, to say the least. On the other hand, the two Shinigami inside were talking about her behind her back, and that was at least as rude as what she was doing. And from their gossiping, perhaps she could learn a little more about what had happened to her…

As quietly as she could, Hinamori shuffled closer to the gates, ears wide open. And anyway, two wrongs make a right, right?

Kuwashima suddenly sighed. "I owe Hinamori-san an apology don't I?" he said moodily. "If I had known who she was, I wouldn't have dismissed her like that…"

Yasuda snickered. "You bet you owe her one, Kuwashima-kun. It's not every day a heroine of Soul Society comes through these doors, after all. Just goes to show you that you should be polite to everyone, 'specially strangers."

_Heroine? What?_

Yasuda was silent a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was oddly distant. "I was there, you know."

"Pardon?"

"I was there, in Hueco Mundo, when Captain Hitsugaya brought her back from the ruins of Las Noches."

Hinamori's eyes widened. Unconsciously, she took another step closer to the gates.

"I do not think you've mentioned that before, Yasuda."

"I haven't? Really? I mean, come on, I was witnessed history, and I never told any of you guys before?

"You indeed did not."

"Huh. That's weird."

Hinamori resisted the urge to stamp her foot. _Get on with it already! _

Clearing his throat, Yasuda began. "So it was right after the Battle of the White Sands—you know that final big one in Hueco Mundo where—"

"I know my military history, Yasuda. Skip that part."

"Geez, Kuwashima, you don't need to be so grouchy about this…Anyway, right near the end of the fighting, some bear-masked Arrancar managed to chew a chunk out of my shoulder. I killed the bastard and tried to keep fighting, but Captain Hisagi—he was just a Vice-Captain back then—ordered me off to the Fourth's field hospital. He said something really cool about not trying to beat the Eleventh's body count—

"Are you ever going to get to the point?" Kuwashima growled.

"Keep your hair on, already! So here I am, in the hospital tents, talking to the pretty healer there while she bandages my shoulder when BAM! There's this huge commotion out front. I thought it was a Hollow attack or something so I rushed out of the tent, just in time to see Captain Hitsugaya running up the main pathway. He still had those huge ice dragon wings from his Bankai hanging from his shoulders, so I seriously think he had just _flown_ in. I clearly remember seeing him and thinking that with those wings and glowing green eyes that he could pass for an Arrancar in its Resurrección form…And then I saw what he was carrying…

"I thought it was just a dried up corpse at first. He was carrying it like it was made of porcelain, and I remember thinking that that person must have been very important to him for him to bring their body back like that. Then he had to stop right in front of me and wait for a wounded party of Shinigami to pass, and I good look at that corpse...And I realized that it—she—was _breathing_. There was almost nothing left of her, just shredded black rags and bones. I could see one of her hands…it was like someone had wrapped a skeleton in tissue paper-skin. Just nothing left…

"Anyway, the injured Shinigami cleared the path, and Captain Hitsugaya took off again. I saw him a few minutes later running up the sand dune on the far side of the hospital, toward where Captain Unohana's tent was. I only learned a few days later that that had been Vice-Captain Hinamori he had carried in. That was a huge surprise, 'cause everyone had believed she'd been dead for weeks…"

On the other side of the gate, Hinamori was standing stock still, one hand wrapped around her walking stick and the other, clenched in a loose fist, resting against her collarbone. Behind her closed eyes, her thoughts whirled about like leaves caught in a cyclone.

"So what happened then?" Kuwashima asked, a note of curiosity creeping into his normally prissy voice.

"To what?"

"To Vice-Captain Hinamori."

"Oh. Well, I didn't hear anything more, so I figured she'd died. She looked near enough to it when I saw her, after all."

"Your ending leaves a lot to be desired, you know."

"The endings to true stories often do. Besides, the death—or near death—of their Vice-Captain was the business of the Fifth, not our Ninth, so it wasn't like I went out of my way to find out what happened." Yasuda's chopsticks clinked against his bowl again, and he took a noisy bite. "An' don' forget, the story does 'ave an' endin', Ku'ash'ma-kun, and a happy one a' that."

"You mean the fact that said Hinamori Momo came through these very gates less than a half-hour past?"

A swallow. "Yeah, I do. I honestly did think her dead, but I'm kinda glad to hear she's alright. You know, with what she did for Soul Society and all…she deserves to be alright."

"Mmm," Kuwashima concurred.

"I still can hardly believe she _is_ alright, though. After what she went through…Hands down, she must be one of the toughest Shinigami ever. Those crazy Elevenths don't even compare."

"Judging from your story, Yasuda, I'm inclined to agree. I've always thought the Eleventh Division has always been overrated anyway." Kuwashima paused a moment, then spoke again. His words made Hinamori's blood run cold.

"I do not think Hinamori-san is a Shinigami anymore, though."

"Eh? What?"

"I do not think she is a Shinigami. She was not in uniform. And she did not have a zanpakuto."

"She might have just been off duty, Kuwashima-kun. And it's peacetime. Nobody carries their zanpakuto all the time these days."

"You misunderstand me. I do not mean that she was not carrying a zanpakuto. I mean that _she did not have one_."

Yasuda drew a sharp breath. "You mean—"

"Exactly. Her reiatsu was nothing like that of any Shinigami I've ever encountered. There was something missing from it, as if there was a hole where her zanpakuto's own reiatsu would supplement hers…"

"Wow. Do you think she's—"



Not caring if the two gatekeeper Shinigami heard her or not, Hinamori threw herself out from behind the door and took off down the street, running as fast as her weakened legs would allow, running away from that half-completed question that she could not bear to hear. But it did not matter, because she already knew what would have been.

_Do you think she's lost her powers?_

She'd already come to the conclusion that she was no longer a Shinigami. And the fact that nobody she'd spoken with at the Fourth had breached the subject proved that others knew, too. Admission by omission. But to hear it said straight out like that…somehow it made it all hurt more.

It really hurt.

Knowing she was useless, that is.

Gasping for breath, Hinamori slowed from her run into a stumbling shuffle. Her legs were burning with exertion, her head was pounding, and her arms ached from carrying her heavy walking stick. And her exhaustion only made her feel worse.

She was so weak.

_I do not think she's a Shinigami._

_Do you think she's lost her powers?_

Slowly, slowly, Hinamori made her way over to the blank white wall of one of the buildings that fronted to the street. She leaned against it for a moment, then slid down to the flagstones. She'd never felt so tired. Not like this.

_She did not have a zanpakuto._

"I'm so sorry, Tobiume," she whispered.

Tobiume was the real reason she could not doubt the fact she wasn't a Shinigami, even though she had tried to avoid thinking about him. A Shinigami's zanpakuto was an extension of his or her soul. They always kept their edge, would only break when faced with an opponent with a stronger will, and could repair themselves if their wielders had sufficient resolve. They were difficult to take away from their masters as well. If a Shinigami truly needed or wanted his zanpakuto, the sword could re-manifest itself into being—not in-a-poof-of-smoke kind of re-manifestation, but in a turn-around-and-it's-there kind of re-manifestation. That was the reason imprisoned Shinigami typically had their zanpakuto sealed in their scabbards, rather than having them confiscated.

It was also the reason so few Shinigami had been held as prisoners or hostages by Hollows throughout history. It was difficult to control a captive who could summon his own weapon, after all.

But Tobiume had never re-manifested after Hinamori had awakened from her coma. And she could not remember if something had been done to him to ensure that he would not come back. She couldn't even hear his voice in her head, no matter how hard she called. He was gone, as though he'd never existed.

And she knew that a Shinigami without a zanpakuto, without even as much as an asauchi, a nameless blade, was no Shinigami at all.

Just useless.

"I'm sorry," Hinamori whispered again.

Unconsciously, her fingers began to skim along the polished shaft of her walking stick. As soon as she noticed this, though, Hinamori forced her hands to be still. For a brief moment, when she'd picked up Hitsugaya-kun's reiatsu imprint on the book of fairy tales, she'd thought she might be able to turn a newfound talent into a reason for staying in Seireitei. But since she had failed to pick up a single other imprint, what she had thought to be a talent probably had just been a fluke. And considering how rare reiatsu sensitives were, it seemed unlikely that it was a skill to be learned, no matter how determined she was.

So that career path was out. She couldn't be a Shinigami, either. So for what reason could she possibly have for staying in Seireitei? One thing was certain—she'd go back to Rukongai if she knew that everyone was only letting her stay out of pity.

She could vaguely remember those few months that passed between the time Aizen had stabbed her and when the Fourth's psychologist had managed to repair her broken mind. She had been barely a shadow of her former self as she, pale and wan, would drift about Seireitei, trying to convince everyone who would listen that her captain had not been a traitor, that he was a good man, that there was no need for a war. And she could remember the whispers that had followed her…

"_Look. There goes Vice-Captain Hinamori. No doubt out to try to corrupt the troops again." _

"_She's completely nuts. I can't for the life of me understand why they don't lock her up."_

"_I hear some of the high-ups are sweet on her. If it was me, I'd be tossed out the gate before I'd gotten three words out."_

"_Hush. She's still a Vice-Captain. Show some respect."_

"_Why should we respect someone like that? She's pathetic. There's no reason for her to be here."_

"_Give her some time. Perhaps she'll get better."_

"_And perhaps Hueco Mundo will be sunny tomorrow."_

She'd been more than a little mad, then. She hadn't really been able to understand the words thrown at her. But now, with her mind clear, she knew they would hurt.

"_Look, there goes Hinamori Momo. Used to be a Vice-Captain, you know."_

"_I hear she lost her powers. I wonder why they bother to keep her."_

"_Maybe she's good at cleaning or something."_

No pity. No charity. Hinamori clenched one of her hands into a fist. She'd find her place in the world, and she'd reach it through her own merit. No one could deride her, then.

But what could she actually _do_? If possible, she would rather not leave Seireitei. She'd called it home for the past half-century, and most everyone she knew lived there. Perhaps if she was desperate, she might become a servant for one of the noble houses. Then again, her natural klutziness might prevent her from being hired. Not to mention that, as a former officer of the Gotei Thirteen, she was more used to giving orders than taking them.

Hinamori sighed, and laboriously climbed to her feet. Now that she thought about it, there really weren't many opportunities for non-Shinigami in Seireitei. Perhaps she could find work as an assistant to one of the members of the Central 46…but then again, they'd probably be suspicious of the former adjunct of the man who had slaughtered all their predecessors in one fell swoop. Hmmm…what else was there…What about the Secret Advance Corps? Hinamori almost snickered at the thought. Not only were those members of the intelligence gathering squads incredibly hostile to outsiders, they'd probably require her to be able to run at breakneck speeds across rooftops and be able to completely conceal herself in shadows. And with her current physical condition, joining seemed as plausible as walking to the moon.

Perhaps she should look to her strengths then…She had always been good at writing up the Fifth's mission reports and doing the paperwork and the filing, so perhaps an administrative position would be a good fit. With luck, she might be able to find work as some noble's secretary or something. She'd been told that she was a decent cook, too, so there were possibilities there. However, when she'd last checked, most of the Division's mess halls were supplied through the labor of the oft-bullied Fourth Division.

Was she good at anything else? Hinamori wracked her brains before the answer hit her like a charging rhinoceros. Kidou! She was good at kidou! She'd been at the top of her class in that subject at the Academy, and had even received recruitment letters from the Kidou Corps before her graduation. Perhaps they would let her join? Of course, she'd have to demonstrate her abilities to them first…

Hinamori bit her lip. To tell the truth, she hadn't tried any of her spiritual abilities since she'd awakened from her coma. She was in too poor a physical condition to try running up walls or shunpo or anything, and of course she lacked a zanpakuto to release, so she had no evidence that she could still even use them. And trying to sense one's own reiatsu was like trying to see one's own face without a mirror. The only way to see how much of her ability she had would be to actually test it out.

_Her reiatsu was nothing like that of any Shinigami I've ever encountered. There was something missing from it, as if there was a hole where her zanpakuto's own reiatsu would supplement hers…_

She tried to block her doubts from her mind as she shuffled into the center of the deserted alley. She could do this. Would do this. She'd make a spectacular fireball, and then show off her amazing kidou prowess to the heads of the Corps. She'd be accepted without hesitation. Then she'd finally be a functioning member of society again, and there never would be pity on strangers' faces. On anyone's faces.

Hinamori held out her arm, her spread hand perpendicular to the ground. Closing her eyes, she gathered her reiatsu, her mind picturing the very specific sequence of images that were necessary to construct one of the spells of demon magic.

When she was sure she'd captured the form of the spell, she opened her eyes and shouted its name.

"Hado number thirty-one! Shakkaho!"

For a split second, Hinamori thought the spell was working. Harsh red light wreathed her hand for a moment, then collapsed inward into what should have been a beautiful orb of destructive fire. But instead of solidifying, the light only shrunk and diminished until it simply vanished with a faint pop.

_There was something missing from it, as if there was a hole…_

She slowly lowered her hand, her fingers curling into a fist. Her palm wasn't the least bit scorched from her spell. It wasn't even _warm_.

_Do you think she's lost her powers?_

Perhaps it had been too much to hope for. Zanpakuto did not simply vanish on a whim. As much as she had been denying it, deep down she had known they only did so when their wielders lost all their malleable reiatsu, as had been the case with Kuchiki Rukia a decade before. And if Hinamori had been able to regain her own powers, they would have returned during the nine years of her coma. Her loss was indisputably permanent…

Wiping her sweating palms dry on her kimono, Hinamori shuffled back over to the wall where she'd been sitting—in her haste to see if she possessed her old spiritual abilities, she'd left her walking stick behind. She was a little surprised at how calm she was feeling. When she'd failed to sense reiatsu imprints earlier, she'd been crying, but that wasn't the case now. Perhaps because that dud spell had seemed so final. Absolute proof that what was gone was gone. Hinamori quickly quashed a brief flare of anger and disappointment. There wasn't any point in crying over spilled milk, right? She was just going to have to get used to it all and get on with her life, no matter if she spent it as a secretary, a servant, or a Rukongai greengrocer.

Picking up her stick, Hinamori made her way back into the center of the street. The sun was sinking inexorably lower, and she wondered if she should start heading back to the Tenth's barracks.

_Considering how slowly I walk these days, that would probably be a good idea…_

But she hesitated.

Some little corner of her mind had woken up, and it was very pointedly wondering why she was giving up so quickly on her own spiritual powers.

What had happened to the Academy student who, not yet knowing her zanpakuto's name, had charged a half-dozen Huge Hollows when her group had been attacked during a training exercise? What had happened to the Shinigami graduate who had worked herself to the bone trying to impress her captain, just so he would take more notice of her? What happened to that same Shinigami who, without hesitation, had charged then-Captain Ichimaru after she had thought he'd killed the man she loved?

Was a single failed spell reason to blithely consign herself to a life not of her own choosing?

Was she that weak?

Firmly planting her walking stick upon the flagstones like a wizard's staff, Hinamori flung her hand towards the sky, palm upwards, fingers spread.

This time, she'd use the incantation. She'd make sure she tested herself properly. And if it didn't work, she'd start off with Hado number one. And if that failed, she'd move on to number two. And then number three. And if none of her Hado spells worked, she'd move on to the Bakkudo ones. And if they all failed too, she'd wait until her legs regained their strength and then try using shunpo. She wouldn't give up on her powers, not until they were proved, beyond all measure of doubt, to be truly gone.

She would not. She could not.

For the sake of her pride, if nothing less.

"_**Ye Lord, mask of blood and flesh, all Creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man, Inferno, and Pandemonium, the sea barrier surges! March on to the south!"**_

Hinamori took a deep breath. _**"HADO NUMBER THIRTY-ONE! SHAKKAHO!"**_

Everything turned white.

Then red.

Waves of crimson flame shredded the tranquility of the darkening sky. Clouds, torn asunder by the initial blast, flashed into vapor. The brightness, the pure heat of it…she could only gape, thunderstruck, at the geyser of fire that flowed up out of her upraised palm into the sky, high, higher than even the Tower of Penitence in the far distance—

Hinamori snapped her hand closed, cutting off her reiatsu flow as she did so. For a moment, fire spurted out from between her fingers before dying away.

_Lost my powers, my foot…_

Hinamori suddenly burst out laughing. That had been totally unexpected. And thrilling. She wasn't powerless after all! Maybe her spiritual abilities had just needed a jump start…but whatever. Look out, Kidou Corps, here comes Hinamori!

She flopped down on the hard flagstones, grinning hugely as she watched the burning sky slowly fade back to normal. The massive spell had taken a lot out of her—she felt like she'd just run nonstop across Seireitei—but she couldn't resist trying another.

"Hado number thirty-three! Sokatsui!"

A perfect sphere of blue light rocketed up from her hand. Hinamori let out a whoop as, far above the surrounding buildings, it burst into a crackling storm of blue-white lightning. It was hard to believe that just a minute ago, she was almost ready to become someone's secretary. A secretary. Blech. She was a soldier, dang it!

CRASH!

She turned her head to stare, wide eyed, at the broken roofing shingle that had missed her head by a hair.

"Whoops, sorry about that," a vaguely-familiar voice called from the rooftop above her. A black-uniformed Shinigami leapt down, landing effortlessly beside her. Hinamori was momentarily envious.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the newly-arrived Shinigami said politely, "but have you seen anyone practicing Kidou around these parts? That big explosion just a minute ago came from somewhere nearby…"

A sudden flash of recognition lit Hinamori's face. "You!" she squawked out.

The Shinigami stared down at her for a confused moment before his blue eyes also widened in recognition.

"Hinamori-kun, is that you?"



--

**Author's note, July 19, 2008**

**1) Well, I first want to apologize for the overload of OCs in this chapter…Tamura and Kuwashima and Yasuda…The problem with the Bleach 'verse is that we don't know very many of the rank-and-file soldiers, so I have to make 'em up. I don't think you'll be seeing them again, though, 'cause they're not very important.**

**2) Random translation notes… The incantation for Hado #31: Shakkaho (Way of Destruction #31: Shot of Red Fire) is taken from the Lunar Subs translation of episode 49. I don't trust the official Viz stuff. It's censored. And often inaccurate. I changed the punctuation and capitalization a little to make it more dramatic…**

**The second spell Hinamori used was "Blue Fire, Crash Down."**

**3) And I hope the explosion was worth the wait. :)**

**4) A week after uploading the last chapter, I realized that I put up an incorrect link on my profile page for that chapter's illustration. That's fixed now, and there's a new picture up too!**

**4) Thansabunch to my reviewers! AddictedtoBleach, hexxeh, Nagasasu, nymphadora1196, whitehitsugaya, akirk85029, Prodigy Keyblade Wielder, Inubaki, contrastingdeath, BridgetAG, Rose of Wind, Devatron2000, Altais, and Kazeek!**

**5) It would be really nice to hear from you all! Comments, constructive criticism, messages saying how happy you are to hear that Shiro-chan is coming back next chapter (whoops, was that a spoiler?), I'd be most grateful!**


End file.
